House of Resolution
by NokuMarieDeux
Summary: (Sequel to "House of Misery") Just when the dust has settled and the denizens of the little ranch house in the valley are adjusting to the 'new normal', yet more adversities arise. Miscommunications, misconceptions, misunderstandings, dangerous liaisons and dastardly deeds combine to further complicate the lives of the Sherman's blended family.
1. Chapter 1

**HOUSE OF RESOLUTION**

" _ **Everything is funny as long as it is happening to somebody else."**_ _(Will Rogers)_

 _ **Nonie's introduction…**_ _Howdy there, friends an' readers! Reckon it's about time I got around to recountin' the rest of this tale what took place in 'House of Misery'. But for you folks what ain't read it yet, here's a recap a what's what an' who's who. By the way, from here on out I'm mostly gonna be commentin' in proper English an' whatnot as my alter ego—Gracie Sherman. So don't get confused... it's still the same ole me._

 **PROLOGUE**

 **October 1870'd brought calamity** upon the Sherman ranch and stagecoach relay station: Matthew 'Slim' Sherman came down with acute bronchitis. Younger brother Andrew 'Andy' Sherman contracted measles in the epidemic that swept the township of Laramie. General factotum and self-proclaimed Dutch uncle Jebediah 'Jonesy' Jones suffered a particularly severe bout of rheumatism and sciatica. Hired hand and best friend/adopted brother Jess Harper sustained a broken leg in a stagecoach accident. An added casualty was a gravely injured traveler from a foreign land—Kimball 'Kim' Kahále. With the entire working crew of the ranch rendered _hors d'combat_ , friends and neighbors pitched in to take charge of the dire situation and render whatever assistance was needed.

Six weeks on, around-the-clock oversight was no longer necessary though routine operations were far from restored. Andy'd completely recovered. Aside from a lingering cough and minor residual congestion, Slim was mostly over his affliction but hadn't yet been cleared by the family doctor to resume any heavy outdoor work. Jonesy was mobile but restricted to light duty cooking only. Jess and the luckless houseguest still faced weeks of recuperation—only time could heal broken bones.

The constant stream of volunteers and temporary live-in nurses had dwindled to periodic visits by a core group of caregivers including Freddy 'Young Doc' Whatleigh (general practitioner), who checked in whenever he was in the vicinity to ensure his patients were progressing satisfactorily; and Salviah 'Sally' Lowenstein (Young Doc's sister, farrier and artisan metalworker by trade) who came in from town once a week to attend the sixteen or so Overland-owned coach horses. As much traveling as they did every day, constant hoof and shoe maintenance was a necessity which Slim and Jess were unable to tackle at present. That was her public reason. The private reason was her clandestine long-term personal relationship with Slim, which was about to enter a new phase.

Other key players included: Lindsay 'Lychee' McNutt (attorney at law and adopted cousin to Sally and Young Doc), a frequent caller in connection with ranch finances and a private commission for his newest client. Lychee's employer Wing Chen Li (aka Lee Wing, a wealthy, influential semi-reclusive businessman and Young Doc's father-in-law), whose palatial enclave at a slight remove from the white residential part of town featured in much plotting and planning, secret activities and intelligence-gathering. Long-suffering Sheriff Mortimer 'Mort' Corey found himself embroiled in the affairs of the Sherman ranch a lot more often than he would've liked.

Though touched by the epidemic, the compass-point neighbors'd fared better than the Shermans. Slim and his parents'd never failed to lend support when needed, so the neighbors didn't hesitate to return the many favors done them over the years. By consolidating their efforts until the men of the Sherman ranch were back on their feet, they helped out with preparations for the coming winter. Their wives took it in turn to keep the covered dishes coming.

Dependable formal education was still a hit-or-miss proposition in the Laramie community. From time to time families had to resort to homeschooling just as the earliest settlers'd done—as best they could depending on the literacy level of the parents. Slim'd long had his heart and mind set on sending his kid brother to college. In the years before a real school had been established, Slim'd overseen Andy's studies. Intelligent and well-read himself, educating Andy in the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic hadn't been particularly arduous.

But what Andy now needed to learn was far more complex and extensive—requiring knowledge and guidance Slim felt inadequate to provide if the boy were to pass preparatory school exams and gain acceptance to the prestigious Smith Academy in St. Louis. And then fortune and chance had provided an inspired solution in the person of their temporary boarder.

Kim Kahále—university-trained civil engineer—couldn't travel anywhere until his body mended, which meant like it or not he was stuck at the ranch for an as-yet undetermined number of weeks. According to Young Doc, it was imperative that in the meantime he do nothing strenuous that might cause his fractured ribs to shift and puncture an internal organ. What could be less physically taxing than sitting at the parlor table tutoring a fourteen-year-old kid? Slim'd proposed bartering bed and board for tutorial services and Kim'd agreed.

Everything was going to be all right…

 _ **Chapter 1 —**_ **CABIN FEVER**

" _ **Cabin fever is an idiomatic term for a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group**_

 _ **is isolated and/or shut in a small space, with nothing to do for an extended period. Cabin fever**_

 _ **describes the extreme irritability and restlessness a person may feel in these situations."**_ (Wikipedia)

 **Saturday, November 5th...** Andy Sherman dawdled on the front porch in the twilight, studying the Finnell alcohol thermometer installed near the front door. The oak and brass device registered outdoor temperatures from forty below zero to a high of one-hundred-eighty degrees—overkill in the young scholar's estimation. When did it ever get that cold or that hot around Laramie, Wyoming? Still, it was a marvelous piece of instrumentation. The instructional notations printed at intervals alongside the glass tube were equally amusing: _'alcohol boils'_ , _'wax melts'_ , _'fever heat'_ and _'blood heat'_ down to _'butter melts'_ , _'ice melts'_ and _'alcohol freezes'_ —aside from _'zero'_ , useless information on a device intended for outdoor use. Now—at five o'clock in the afternoon, with the sun having just set—it stood at eighteen degrees… which was what was keeping six inches of compacted snow on the ground.

The thermometer was the latest in a series of deliveries all addressed to Master Andrew Sherman, Esquire from an anonymous benefactor. Before that it had been an up-to-date Andrews terrestrial globe with a cast metal cradle, a wood horizon ring and a brass full meridian. Other packages had contained such useful items for a future collegian as a set of Cross pens in a rosewood case, a generous supply of high-quality writing paper, and several boxes of first edition textbooks.

Slim'd hit the roof, demanding it all be sent right back. However, as Jonesy'd sagely observed, with no return address on any of the parcels there was no way of doing so. After a heated exchange of messages between Slim and the postmaster in town, the latter'd made it quite clear he wasn't authorized to have unclaimed Sherman mail and packages cluttering up his establishment. Onto the stagecoach with driver Mose Shell and out to the ranch it would go!

Luckily, several other recent inexplicable occurrences had served to turn Slim's attention elsewhere and were keeping him occupied.

 **Having come up the steps behind Andy,** two elderly men were vigorously flailing their arms and stomping their boots to shake off accumulations of snow, mud and dung. Though neither retired cowboy would see seventy again, they enjoyed remarkably sound health and were possessed of keen minds that still relished the game of bunkhouse one-upmanship. For the past two hours, accompanying Andy on evening rounds, they'd been regaling him with cold weather metaphors, of which they apparently had a bottomless repertoire. No doubt they had an equal number applicable to hot weather.

"Colder'n penguin shit," William 'Mild Bill' Bailey announced from the depths of the voluminous muffler wound around his head, face and neck.

"So cold I'm fartin' snowflakes," claimed Albert 'Opie' Oppenheimer, shivering despite the multiple layers of woolens shielding his old bones.

Through the closed front door could be heard voices rising and falling in argument. Andy sighed, for once wishing there were even more chores to keep him out of the house—anything to put off having to wade back into that swamp of pent-up frustration. Granted, after five weeks of enforced togetherness, it was perfectly understandable why façades of civility were crumbling without female oversight enforcing good behavior.

Setting down the two lidded pails of milk he was carrying, Andy opened the door cautiously, allowing billows of warmth and savory smells to escape the threshold. Respectfully gesturing to the two elders to precede him into the parlor, he picked up the pails and entered, butting the door shut behind him. Jonesy must have seen them through the kitchen window, heading for the front entrance as the kitchen door was once again swelled shut. He hastened around the corner to intercept them before they could track mud indoors, barking orders.

"Don't you fellas even think about takin' another step 'til you pull off them boots! An' get warshed up. Supper'll be ready in ten minutes. Slim, Jess… move that mess off the table!"

 **The 'mess' to which Jonesy referred** was the big green ranch ledger, assorted stacks of papers, a litter of crumpled balls where apparently someone had done battle with sums and lost, and a scattering of gnawed-on pencil stubs. Slim was cribbing away at a pencil and scowling. When agitated, he had a nervous habit of furrowing his hair, fingers transferring oil from his forehead and causing his hair to lay down in blonde windrows. He was beyond agitated this evening.

"Those two columns _have_ to come out even. No way they could be _that_ far off! You must've added receipts wrong somewhere... or lost a couple!"

"I done added 'em three times already an' it come out the same all three times. You musta not wrote down a deposit or somethin'." Jess glowered back in what Andy called his 'defense' mode... head and chin tucked down like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell.

"Well, dammit... add 'em again! We're gonna get these books balanced if it takes all night!" Slim bellowed, half-rising from his chair and slamming his fist on the table. The ink pot jumped, sputtering beads of ink. Most of the time he kept a tight lid on his temper and the only way to judge the depths of his anger was by the heightened color in his cheeks and veins popping up at his temples. Even then he usually managed to maintain an even tone of voice while addressing the object of his ire. Tonight wasn't one of those times.

Jess went dead still, staring downwards and not at Slim, jaw muscles twitching. Fingers that rarely ceased motion were splayed against the tabletop, pressing down with such force that they'd gone white.

Other than the crackle and pop of pine resin in the fireplace, a doom-invoking silence descended on the room. Halfway divested of their outerwear, Andy, Opie and Mild Bill froze in place. Jonesy retreated to the kitchen. Kim was nowhere in sight.

If ever there were a time when the human volcano that was Jess Harper was going to erupt, this would be it. Wouldn't be the first time Slim had pushed Jess beyond his ability to smother his emotions, triggering one of two results: Jess starting a fistfight... or... Jess packing up his gear and leaving. Except this time he couldn't do either one... not with his leg in a heavy plaster cast from ankle to above the knee.

 **Andy had to remind himself to breathe** before he passed out. He worried that his red-faced brother might be about to bust a gusset. (Was it even possible for a man not yet thirty to have a heart attack or an apoplectic fit?) He worried that Jess might be about to do something awful... like shoot Slim. But no... his gunbelt was hanging on the rack right next to Slim's. (Was it possible to kill someone with a penknife? There was an open one right there on the table where they'd been using it to sharpen pencils...)

By the look on Slim's face as he pushed his chair back, he was already regretting his outburst. No doubt he'd apologize once he'd cooled down, but the damage was already done and he knew it. Striding past Andy and the two old men he jammed his feet into his gumboots and snatched his sheepskin coat off the rack.

"I'll be in the barn," he muttered. Yanking his hat down on his head, he clomped out the door and slammed it behind him.

Andy's eyes swiveled back to Jess, slowly and deliberately backing his wheelchair away from the table as Jonesy emerged from the kitchen.

"Don't pay 'im no mind, Jess," Jonesy consoled. "You know he don't mean to blame you. He just needs to blow off some steam an' you happened to be convenient..."

"Too damned convenient", Jess snarled, wheeling the chair around toward the bedroom door. "I've had it with him an' his fault-findin' ways."

"Where d'ya think you're goin'? We're fixin' to eat!"

"Ain't hungry," was the terse reply as the wheelchair disappeared into the depths of the back bedroom, slowing down just long enough for Jess to backhand the door shut.

Edging their way past Jonesy, Mild Bill and Opie bolted for the dogtrot passageway to the washroom addition at the back of the house. Kim cautiously poked his head out of the improvised bunkroom off the hall. "Is it safe?"

"I knew this was comin'," Jonesy grumbled. "The two of 'em's gonna be the death a me yet! Well, we ain't holdin' supper on their account. The rest of us'll go ahead an' eat an' I'll put some aside for 'em later. Go on an' get warshed up."

 **Andy felt a little guilty,** tucking into the delicious chicken and dumplings, brought by earlier in the day by Missus Livingston. In the back of his mind, too, were the two apple pies delivered by Missus Bartlett yesterday. Chicken and dumplings and apple pie with a hunk of sharp wheel cheese was Jess' absolute most favorite food. For him to say he wasn't hungry when Andy knew darn good and well he had to be by now... well... that was a bad portent. Jess _never_ passed up a meal if he could help it!

There were times, when Jess retreated into one of his black moods, when he truly wanted to be left alone. But there were other times when he needed _not_ to be. The trick was in knowing the difference. What Andy really wanted to do was go in there, sit on the other bed and talk to Jess quiet-like, until he calmed down... but...

At the same time... Andy pondered whether he oughtn't go out to the barn and try to coax his brother into coming back into the house. It was dang cold out there and Slim was just getting over being sick. They didn't need for him to have a relapse right now. As usual, Jonesy was reading his mind and nodding his head.

"Can't be in both places at once, boy."

"I know that, Jonesy... but I feel like I gotta do something... say something..."

The old man sighed. "When it comes down to it, blood's thicker'n water. When we're done here, you go deal with your brother. I'll try to have a word with Jess..."

"If you think that's best..." Andy said. _But Jess is my brother, too... and he needs me more than Slim does..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_ _ **—**_ **PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY**

" _ **Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it."**_ _(George R.R. Martin)_

 **In the two minutes it'd taken Slim** to crunch across the yard, his anger had already begun to dissipate. The barn was dark and cold, the residents uncaring. The footlocker on which he sat was hard and uncomfortable—an appropriate environment for a man needing to examine his conscience and the factors underlying his black mood.

The incessant bickering of the past few weeks had nothing to do with his and Jess' friendship and everything to do with two adult males being held in close confinement when both were accustomed to spending almost all waking hours outdoors in labor-intensive activity. Up until this unfortunate concurrence of events, they'd rarely been incapacitated simultaneously—usually one was always up and around while the other recovered from whatever. And the ambulatory one would help Jonesy care for the ill or injured one.

Initially—and until recently, the volunteer caregivers'd kept peace in the ranch house of misery with liberal applications of narcotics. As health improved and alertness returned, the key to domestic tranquility was keeping the patients comfortable and occupied. The caregivers were quite adept at providing distractions. It was when the patients reached the point of being able to look after themselves and the caregivers went home that dissension began creeping in.

( _ **Gracie's notation...**_ _In the short time they'd known each other, a rapport had evolved between Slim and Jess that went beyond employer-employee, beyond casual friendship. People who'd known Slim all his life were mystified as to why any solid upright citizen would open hearth and home to a piece of trail trash like that Harper fellow. At first speculation had run rife—from Slim's being blackmailed into providing a hideout to his having hired a gunslick for some nefarious purpose. A few gossips with their minds in the gutter hinted that there might be an even darker aspect to their relationship._

 _A couple of self-important souls had openly dared voice their disapproval or outright condemnation, which put Slim in the position of having to defend his choice. How do you explain that inexorable gut instinct that links you to another unrelated human being... the surefire knowledge that fate intended this other person to become an integral part of your life... that a kinship exists as close as any brotherly bond? Slim and Jess hadn't explored the nature of their relationship because men didn't do that sort of thing, but Slim felt it in his heart and he was pretty sure Jess did, too. Of Andy's attachment there was absolutely no doubt._

 _Slim comprehended that Jonesy and Andy had viewed this ripening friendship from opposite ends of the spectrum. As elder statesman of the family, Jonesy worried that Slim, in letting emotion override common sense, was setting himself up for disillusionment should this newcomer prove unworthy of trust. Andy, with the inexperience and unworldliness of youth, was simply happy that the new addition to their household had brought some levity and light-heartedness into their lives. Slim knew he could be pretty grim and dull as a stick sometimes._

 _But all that was months ago. Animosity had given way to acceptance for the most part. Jess had friends now, people who could see past the tough guy veneer to the moral individual underneath. Slim's respectability had survived intact, his opinion mattered, and his word was still good as gold._

 _As close as they'd become, however, the friendship was still so new that there remained a reservoir of history that neither had yet revealed to the other and perhaps never would—the late war, for instance, in which they'd both fought... but on opposite sides.)_

 **While Slim Sherman enjoyed a hardy constitution,** his immune system was nowhere near as robust as Jess Harper's, and he was highly annoyed that it was taking him such a long time to recover. Young Doc had counseled him against trying to do too much too soon… even moderate exertion still brought on wheezing and coughing. _Stay calm, he says. Don't allow yourself to become overexcited by provocation. Easy for you to say, Freddy… you don't have to live with Jess Harper._

Slim'd intended to put this lost time to good advantage by teaching Jess the finer points of ranch bookkeeping… as soon as he could get the books in balance, which wasn't happening. True, he tended to put off paperwork as long as possible, but generally got the job done once a month or so. This time, try as he might, he couldn't unravel the anomalies in his accounts. Obsessing over it gave him headaches; he'd have to wait until he could get to town for face-to-face meetings with his banker and various merchants.

So why on earth had he acted the way he had with Jess? Unreasonable, unfair... and stupid. No single individual was to blame for the accounting problem or the general malaise under his roof. Jonesy might be complaining a smidgen more than normal but everyone was inclined to cut him some slack on account of his age. Before being let off house restriction, Andy'd been fretting some but now was bending over backwards to be supportive and helpful, undertaking more than his usual allotment of chores.

Jess' restlessness was understandable—six weeks' confinement to a wheelchair would make anyone cantankerous—but his escalating irritability was leaching every last drop of Slim's tolerance quota. Jess' nagivational skills left much to be desired... he was constantly barging into people and furniture. Despite warnings that the yard wasn't wheelchair-friendly—either snow-covered, muddy or rutted—he'd made repeated attempts to escape the front porch, resulting in his having to be rescued and carried back indoors.

As for the extended-term houseguest, half the time Slim forgot he was even there. Not the most sociable cuss, Kim had a knack for receding into the woodwork when he wasn't at the table for meals or going over lessons with Andy. His low-pitched voice blended into background noise like the susurrus of wind through leaves... you heard it but it didn't always register.

The two oldtimers—volunteer retired cowboys from the Whatleigh's Rocking W—slept in a repurposed gypsy wagon out by the corral. They performed their assigned duties competently, if slowly, and mainly kept to themselves when not taking meals with the family. Slim'd invited them to stay in the makeshift bunkroom behind the kitchen, where Kim slept, but they allowed as how they felt right at home in the snug _vardo_ where, undisturbed, they could smoke their pipes, tip their jugs of homebrew and trade reminiscences.

The sprite of pragmatism perching on Slim's right shoulder suggested that he ought to be thanking his lucky stars that they'd all come through this time of adversity with no permanent aftereffects. That if he and the others continued handling Jess with kid gloves and keeping him too busy to dwell on his infirmity, forbearance would win out in the end. The cast would be coming off soon enough and all would return to normal.

But the imp of perversity digging its claws into Slim's left shoulder insisted he had every right to be impatient and out of sorts... that no one seemed to be overly concerned with _his_ —Slim's—emotional well-being. Jess was getting the lion's share of attention, and all that pandering was turning him into a whiny goldbricker who was getting on _everyone's_ last nerve.

With all other grievances accounted for, Slim finally arrived at the one that had been festering in his subconsciousness for weeks. The more he'd tried to dismiss it as impossible, the more possible it'd become, and an unwelcome vision'd begun manifesting itself in unguarded moments: Sally Lowenstein— _his_ girlfriend—and _another man..._

 _(_ _ **Gracie's commentary...**_ _Slim and Sally weren't lovers in the sense of being_ in _love—theirs was more a discreet arrangement of convenience in which periodic 'business trips' took them to Cheyenne for a weekend of reciprocal pleasure far away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. Closer to home they'd always taken care to avoid any intimacies that might've given away their secret. No one knew [or so the pair had assured each other] other than Sally's aunt Emmaline and Em's housekeeper Peach, who looked after Sally's son when she was away._

 _There were some unusual parameters to this arrangement. Sally didn't conform to society's image of the ideal female—not especially pretty, too tall, too gawky, too outspoken, too unfeminine. And consensus of opinion held that she was already too old to entice a prospective spouse. Sally was perfectly happy to let this belief prevail as it kept the public eye off her personal business._

 _Slim, on the other hand, represented the cream of the crop of eligible bachelors in the entire community... from the viewpoint of the parents of eligible young maidens. He was in constant demand as a safe and desirable escort to local social gatherings. The problem was that after stepping out several times with any particular young lady, she [or her hopeful parents] would begin to sense a certain lack of marital commitment on his part and that would be the end of it._

 _Sally regarded these short-lived non-physical courtships as amusing since they didn't impinge on_ her _enjoyment of Slim's generous endowments.)_

 **At the height of the medical emergency,** Sally'd been at the house almost every day, many times sleeping over while helping nurse the sick men. Then, Slim'd been too ill to even _think_ about recreational retreats. But now that he wasn't so sick and _was_ thinking about it, he was sensing a growing rift in their relationship... a coolness in her demeanor toward him that he was at a loss to explain. Not that Sally was in any way flirtatious to begin with; it just seemed that more often as not she was avoiding eye contact. As there was no privacy whatsoever in the small ranch house, neither would have made an overt gesture such as a hug... but even less intimate ones—a touch on an arm, for instance—seemed now to be unwelcome.

They'd always agreed that their alliance was subject to dissolution at any time for any reason... such as one wishing to pursue a romantic liaison elsewhere. And it was specifically understood that the breaking-off partner would plainly state that fact if indeed that were the case. However, Sally hadn't given Slim any such indication. If she'd been keeping company with someone else, Slim would've heard about it by now. She was too well-known a figure in a very small town. He couldn't recall her mentioning an attraction to any other man.

Thinking back to the last time he and Sally'd been together over a weekend—almost three months now—he couldn't find a reason for this disconnect. Nor could he identify any particular incident that might explain her perceived withdrawal of affection. He could only assume someone else had come into her life. It was inevitable that deductive reasoning would lead right to his own front door...

 _(_ _ **Gracie's note...**_ _On too many occasions when Slim and Jess'd vied for the attentions of a new female in the community, Slim'd been chagrined to find himself second choice. Too many times eyes had looked upon him with appreciation—he was pretty darn good-looking, after all—only to slide past and widen in unseemly desire when they fastened on Jess Harper. What was it about the dark and mysterious, the hint of danger, the thrill of the unknown—the forbidden fruit about which their mommas'd cautioned—that turned a woman's head?)_

 **Jess and Sally'd taken an instant dislike** to each other from the moment they were introduced. It'd never occurred to Slim that Sally... _his_ Sally—a mature woman as far from flighty and misty-eyed as it's possible to get—might fall under Jess' spell. Whenever the female farrier was around, Jess contrived to be elsewhere on the property so their paths'd seldom crossed until that fateful week when the Sherman compound had fallen into chaos. As one of the volunteer caregivers, Sally'd been present almost every day and many nights.

Despite her initial antipathy toward Jess, Sally'd nursed him with the same diligence as she'd applied to all the other patients. Slim'd been too ill to pay much attention at the time. Later, he'd been too preoccupied to notice the reversal of attitudes between his girlfriend and his best friend, chilly reserve giving way to friendly banter.

Out here in the dark, Slim's little quandary assumed the proportions of a Japanese puzzle box that needed turning over this way and that in hopes of finding an answer. What to do? Confront one... or the other... or both? And on what grounds? He couldn't very well accuse Jess of alienating Sally's affections. Number one, Jess didn't _know_ about Slim and Sally. Number two, according to their no-strings-attached agreement, Slim had no moral, ethical or legal claim on Sally.

Taking a deep breath, Slim strove to put aside the whole issue and think about something else... like the fact that he was cold, his butt was numb and his belly was complaining about missing dinner.

 _It's totally irrational to be angry with Jess... it's not his fault, but I can't help it. If anything, I should be mad at Sally... but she's a woman so she can't help it, either. It's their nature to be fickle. The best thing for me to do is keep my mouth shut and go along with it._

In time Slim might also have come around to considering factors contradicting the notion of Jess and Sally having an affair... but at that moment his freight train of thought was derailed by the rusty screeking of iron runners—the barn door being slid open.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_ _ **—**_ **ANGER MANAGEMENT**

" _ **Anger kills logical thinking and logical thinking kills anger... the choice is yours"**_ _(Ketan Shah)_

" **What're you doing out here?"**

Slim raised a hand to shield his eyes against the light from the lantern Andy was holding aloft. Ignoring him, the boy moved forward to set the lantern on the floor before sitting beside Slim and planting his elbows on his knees in imitation of his brother's posture.

"Did Jonesy send you out here?"

"No."

"Go on back to the house."

"No." Defiance and uncertainty expressed in a single, quietly spoken syllable.

Slim didn't know whether to snicker or exert adult authority. The boy surprised him by showing grit when least expected. "What's on your mind, then?"

Andy risked a sideways glance, nibbling his lower lip. "You know how you always said if I had a problem I could talk to you about it...?"

Hastily Slim focused his attention on the boy. "Of course you can. Always."

"Well... I got a problem."

"And that would be...?"

"You."

"Excuse me?"

"It's you. You sure been grumpy a lot... bitin' everyone's head off..."

"Maybe I've had good reason to be upset... with everything that's been going wrong lately..."

"That's just it, Slim... everything was gettin' _better_... so what're you so mad about?"

"You're just a kid. You wouldn't understand..."

Andy slumped his shoulders then stood up abruptly. "So much for you _listenin'_..." he muttered scornfully, turning as if to leave. Would've if Slim hadn't reached out and grabbed the back of his coat to pull him back. As the boy sat back down with a dubious expression, Slim apologized.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I'm not doing a very good job as big brother here. Go ahead and say what you came to say. I promise not to interrupt."

After a few seconds of deliberation, Andy resumed.

"Well, when I do somethin' wrong when I should know better an' you holler at me, I understand that. But when I make a mistake on account of I ain't learned the right way yet, you don't get all mad about it... you just explain it again..."

Slim nodded in agreement. "That's because it's wrong for a teacher to lose his temper with someone who's trying to learn something new. And don't say _'ain't._ ' " Too late it dawned on him where Andy was taking this.

"Jess was tryin' to learn something new. He got his numbers mixed up or something. An' you yelled at him an' hurt his feelings."

A too-long silence ensued before Slim responded. "I guess I did... and it was wrong of me to do so."

"It wasn't just about the numbers, was it? Why were you so mad at Jess tonight?"

Slim tensed in panic... was the kid fishing or did he sense... or know... something? If he knew anything, then someone must have blabbed. Surely not Sally herself. Though thankful that in the dimness of the lantern light Andy wouldn't be able to discern the guilty flush he could feel rising from his shirt collar, Slim couldn't help mounting a defense.

"Don't you think that's between him and me?"

"Not when it spills out on everybody else an' makes us feel bad, too." Andy wasn't about to back down. "We know you don't mean to, Slim... but you do. 'Course, we're sorta used to you bein' the boss an' always wantin' to have things your way..."

"I _don't_ always get my way," Slim objected, realizing as he spoke the element of truth in Andy's accusation.

"Almost always," Andy amended. "An' you get all bent outta shape when things don't get done exactly the way you want..."

"I do not..."

"Oh... so you hollered at him 'cause he ain't... isn't... as smart as you?"

Slim held up a hand in warning. "Don't ever make the mistake of thinking Jess is ignorant, Andy... he's smart as a whip when he chooses to apply himself."

"So... _now_ you're sayin' he made mistakes _on purpose_ because he don't want to learn the bookkeeping?" Andy had the bit in his teeth.

"Of course not. Don't put words in my mouth. You're inching awfully close to the line."

"I never said he was stupid," Andy retorted. "I was just gonna say maybe it's harder for him to learn some things than other things. Like me with numbers."

Slim sighed. "Don't tell me. Let me guess. You think I should go in and apologize for blowing up at him."

"Yeah. I sure do."

 **The discussion might have ended there** had Andy not yielded to the urge to have the last word.

"Kim says you both need some downtime away from each other... that too much togetherness is unhealthy."

Slim clenched his teeth and counted to ten. "Oh, he does, does he? Kim's not family... his opinion doesn't count."

Andy's eyes caught and held his brother's. "That's not what you said a few weeks ago. You said as long he was living with us an' under our protection he was like family."

"Okay... well, that's true..."

"Kim listens. He answers questions... especially questions about things that aren't in the books."

"Such as what, for instance?" Slim challenged.

"Like about life... about how come you and Jess can fight with each other so much and still be such good friends. He says in college they teach you about why people think and act the way they do... and how some folks need more 'personal space' than others, whatever that means."

"Do you understand that?"

With Slim's intended sarcasm being misinterpreted as true interest, Andy forged ahead. "No... not really. But I appreciate him takin' the time to try to explain it to me."

Slim didn't really understand it either... but seized the opportunity to throw out a red herring. "I think I can explain about the personal space. You know how sometimes you just want to get away from everybody... from me, from Jonesy... yes, even from Jess. You go up the hill to your Thinking Rock just so you won't have to listen to anything but your own thoughts... until you're ready to come down again. Does that make it any clearer?"

"I guess so... I guess that means you came out here to the barn to get away from us so's you could think... an' then I came out here an' bothered you..."

Pinned by Andy's mournful expression like an insect specimen to a cork, Slim quickly determined his best option was the truth.

"No. I came out here because I was too angry to act or sound like a grown-up. I came out here to sulk and feel sorry for myself. Eventually I would've cooled off and realized I was in the wrong. You just helped me get there sooner, Andy... so it's good that you came after me."

"You're not mad with me for bothering you?"

"No, Andy... I'm not mad at you... or Jess or Jonesy or Kim. I'm just tired and cold. Let's go in, okay?"

"Okay... but Slim...?"

"What?"

"You're not gonna yell at Jess any more tonight, are you?"

"No, Andy. Not tonight."

 _What the hell is Kim teaching this kid, anyway? He needs to stick to the basics and leave the mumbo jumbo to the professionals. I'll have a word with him tomorrow... after I get things with Jess straightened out._


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_ _ **—**_ **FRIENDLY INTERVENTION**

" _ **Intervention only works when the people concerned seem to be keen for peace."**_ _(Nelson Mandela)_

 **Earlier…** Their offer of après-dinner cleanup assistance having been declined, Bill and Opie'd begun the somewhat lengthy process of re-layering themselves like onions. Andy'd started clearing the table when Jonesy'd stopped him.

"See to yer brother. Kim an' me can finish up."

"Sure you don't mind?"

"Some things're more important than dirty dishes."

With a lantern to light the way, Andy and the two elderly cowboys departed.

Jonesy'd fixed plates for the two missing combatants, covering them with pie tins so they wouldn't dry out in the warming oven. While restoring clean dishes to the breakfront cupboard and putting leftovers in the icebox, Kim'd observed the old man trembling with fatigue.

"Go on to bed. I'll wait up and keep the coffee hot for Slim."

"Promised the boy I'd talk to Jess," Jonesy'd grumbled, his voice quavery.

"You're too tired. It'll keep 'til morning."

"I b'lieve you're right. Can't hardly keep my eyes open. It's a bitch gettin' old, son."

"Beats the alternative," Kim'd countered.

Jonesy'd shuffled off to the front bedroom he shared with Andy and closed the door.

Padding back to the stove, Kim poured coffee into two enameled mugs raided the pie safe for a plateful of oatmeal raisin cookies Jonesy'd baked earlier in the day. Arranging a tray, he carried it across the parlor to Jess' lair, not bothering to knock before kneeing open the door. With the door left slightly ajar, enough light spilled into the dark room to guide Kim around to the nightstand separating the twin beds, where he set down the tray and lit a candle.

 _Why am I doing this? What do I expect to accomplish?_

 **Kim wasn't much in a mood** for deep and meaningful exchanges with anyone on this cold night or any other night, and would have preferred to remain entirely uninvolved with this unconventional family's maelstrom of personalities. He suspected that, prior to his arrival, coexistence in this household wasn't any more peaceable when all the family members were hale and hearty. As long as two alpha males shared a roof there would always be conflict of one sort or another.

Life-altering actions taken in the red mist of rage rarely result in a positive outcome. Owning a considerably less explosive personality than either Slim or Jess, Kim seldom allowed anger to override reason. The last time it happened—back home—the result was disastrous... which was what had landed him in this foreign and unforgiving place.

Kim was grateful to Slim for having saved his life, taken him in and provided safe haven. Though perhaps overly rigid in his conformity to the rules of society, Slim was in every respect the sort of steadfast character you'd want to have in your corner when you found yourself in a bind. But proximity to him came with a price: just as any other over-pressurized steam boiler with a faulty safety valve, he occasionally exploded with little or no warning.

Strangely enough, Kim felt a closer affinity to Jess, who'd voiced the most objections to his being brought into the fold and had actually managed to shoot him—not a life-threatening wound by any means, but still... With Jess, what you saw was what you got—happy, sad, sanguine, angry, depressed, content. Unless he was playing poker, there was no second-guessing what kind of mood he might be in at any given moment... it was right there up front like a theatre marquee.

After five weeks of living among them, Kim was somewhat closer to understanding the dynamics of what held these four people together... but not entirely. Harper was the wild card here. Were these battles between him and Sherman an ongoing feature or something more recent... an indication that Jess's status wasn't quite as solid as it seemed? What Kim had read into Jess' parting words was an intent to permanently sever his relationship. The man was free, white and over twenty-one... certainly entitled to make that decision, but at what cost? Kim liked these folks. If there were some small chance that he could help keep this odd little family together through a rough patch, wasn't it worth the effort?

 _Might as well try to open up a dialogue. What the hell, it can't hurt. What's the worst Jess can do? Shoot me? Again..._

" **I know you're not asleep."**

"Whaddya want?"

"Nothing. Just thought you might like some company."

"Well, I don't. Go away. Leave me alone."

Although Jess had got pretty good at heaving himself out of the chair onto the bed without help, he still had trouble lifting the heavy cast into a comfortable sleeping position. At present he was slumped sideways facing the back of the room, fully dressed, with the casted leg still on the floor.

"Looks like you could use some help," Kim observed.

"I said, beat it."

"Sure is cold in here..."

"Don't need you to nursemaid me."

"I brought coffee... and cookies..."

"Who says I want any?"

Ignoring the petulance, Kim squatted in front of the small potbellied stove in the corner, plugging in a few sticks of kindling and wadded up balls of newspaper. Sensing that mute patience was the better option than rebuttal, he took his time about it. In minutes welcome heat began radiating into the room.

"Coffee...?" That one word conveyed a note of interest.

Scraping and rustling sounds behind Kim's back—Jess skinning down to his longjohns—indicated that his resolve was weakening. Without asking, Kim stood up and came around to help Jess get situated into an upright position with his back pillowed against the headboard. Sitting down on the opposite bed, Kim handed over a mug.

"Thanks," Jess finally forced out.

"You're welcome," Kim said. "Here, have a cookie."

"Quiet out there," Jess noted, making short work of the offering and holding out his hand for another one.

"Jonesy's gone to bed. The old guys went to their wagon. Andy's in the barn, trying to reason with Slim."

"Ain't no reasonin' with ole Hardrock when he gets a burr under his saddleblanket."

"He seems to have a lot on his mind right now."

"Life ain't no bowl a cherries for me, either—in case you ain't noticed."

"I get that you're bored and uncomfortable, but pretty soon you'll have your independence back..."

"You come in here to lecture me?"

Kim shrugged. "No. I thought we might talk, Jess. One friend to another."

"So talk."

"You know, a man with as many frustrations as Slim is prone to flying off the handle every now and then. Maybe you shouldn't take it so personally."

"Feels real personal to me. Whose side you on, anyway?"

"I wasn't aware there was one."

"You seen how he's been lately—gettin' on my back... yellin' 'bout everything. I can't do nothin' right."

"He _has_ been a bit peremptory..."

"If you mean cranky, then just say so, how 'bout it?"

"Cranky, then," Kim amended. "Grouchy. Grumpy."

"You got a explanation for that, college boy?" Jess sneered. "You an' your fancy schoolin'... seems like you know everything else."

 _He's just baiting you. Let it slide._

"You're mistaking education for knowledge," Kim replied quietly. "Education doesn't make me a smarter or better man than you. And it's no substitution for common sense. If it were I wouldn't be in the fix I'm in now."

"So you can't explain what he's so dadgum mad about?"

"No. I can't. If I knew, I'd tell you. I'm not a mindreader."

"Then why're you buttin' in?"

"Are you really planning to leave?"

"What if I am? That's my business, not yours."

"Sometimes it helps to examine a problem from an outsider's point of view..."

"Whether I wanna hear it or not, huh?"

"No. Not if you don't want to." Kim stood up. "But it might be helpful to assess the problem and find a way to resolve it. I'll leave you to work it out for yourself, then..."

"No... wait... sit." Jess swiped a hand across his jaw. "I guess I need any advice I can get before we end up killin' each other."

Kim sat back down. "Look... I don't presume to know either of you well enough to advise on your personal relationship. What I _can_ share are my observations. I can see Slim's feeling overwhelmed..."

Jess cut in. "Well, he don't need to be takin' it out on me... or Andy or Jonesy."

"No... but it's an unfortunate trait of the human condition that we always hurt the ones closest to us... and are hurt the worst by them as well. A design flaw in the overall scheme of _homo sapiens_ , I'd say."

"Homo what?"

"Mankind. _Didn't_ you regret it the last couple of times you left?"

"How'd you know about that?"

"Jonesy mentioned it. How it affected Andy."

"Had good reasons for leavin' before!"

"Better reasons than being pissed off at your partner?"

"It's more than that. An' I ain't his 'partner'... just the hired help. He can replace me anytime, easy enough."

"I doubt that he wants to..."

"How can you know that?"

"Slim's never going to make a rancher of Andy. He knows it and the boy knows it, too. But he's got the ambition to build a legacy for the next generation..."

"Slim don't have no kids..." Jess interjected.

"Not yet... but some day. Andy, too."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"You're missing the point. A successful ranch depends on sound management, just like any other business. But an owner can't always be around—that's why he needs a reliable foreman he can trust implicitly. Someone who's informed and competent."

Jess snorted. "This spread ain't big enough to need a foreman..."

"But it will be some day," Kim insisted. "Railroad expansion is going to force stagecoach lines out of business eventually. Slim knows it and wants this ranch to be a going concern by then. Can't you see why he's been working so hard to wrap you up in responsibilities? If he didn't feel you were worth it he damned sure wouldn't be entrusting you with the financial aspects. That man's got plans for you."

"Slim tell you that?"

"Didn't have to. I can see it in the way he interacts with you, what he's trying to teach you."

"That include bein' yelled at?"

"No... there's something else going on there," Kim admitted, "I just don't know what it is yet."

"Me, neither."

Further conversation was curtailed by the swoosh of the outside door being opened and the clumping of boots being removed. Kim stood up and stretched before reaching for the tray with the now empty mugs and plate.

"I'll go on, then. It'll all be better in the morning."

Jess watched him go, with all these new considerations tumbling around inside his head. _I know I tend to be kinda prickly... it just ain't in my nature to back down. When you back down, you get hurt. An' Lord knows I'm mortal tired a gettin' hurt._


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_ _ **—**_ **REJECTION**

" _ **Putting up with you is like eating pudding with a fork: not impossible but a total pain in the ass."**_ _(Greeting card blurb)_

 **Saturday, November 12th...** Jess hated his wheelchair. Hated the plaster cast on his leg that immobilized his ankle and knee. Hated that he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since forever. Hated that he couldn't go outdoors even though the weather had been mostly inclement for the past month and there wasn't anything he could do out there anyway. He'd repaired harness leathers and whittled clothes pegs 'til his fingers bled. He was tired of playing cards and checkers. He'd read every one of Andy's penny dreadfuls and dime novels, some of them twice, and avidly consumed stage passengers' discarded newspapers and magazines. Travelers were pumped for happenings in Laramie and Cheyenne, depending on which direction they'd come from. Whenever a neighbor contrived to stop by on the pretense of delivering something or needing to borrow something or just watering a horse—Jess latched onto him (or her) like a drowning man.

What he especially hated was how polite and reserved Slim was being around him ever since their falling out a week ago... delicately avoiding any fresh upset in their newly-created détente. Slim had apologized to him the following morning and Jess had reciprocated. Jonesy and Andy, too, were treading on eggs. In fact, the only people acting normally around him were Kim, Sally and Young Doc.

This morning Young Doc had given Jess a choice: The cast could come off today at six weeks, but then he might have to go into a walking cast for another four. OR... if he waited two more weeks, likely there'd be no need for one. As badly as he wanted to get shet of that hateful encumbrance, Jess could see the advantage in the trade-off and grudgingly agreed.

"You'll need crutches for a few weeks afterwards," Young Doc warned.

"But then I can ride an' carry 'em with me, right?"

"We'll talk about it after the cast comes off."

"That's all I wanted to hear."

 **The only schoolmistress in Laramie** had decamped during the epidemic and it had taken all this while to engage a replacement. The neighbor children who'd been coming every day for tutoring along with Andy had now returned to the reopened school in town, which meant that all the tasty covered dishes supplied by their doting mothers had also dried up. Even though Jonesy had returned to preparing most of the meals, no one had any complaints about the cuisine—exposure to new recipes had inspired him to vary the menu. Martha Jackson, wife of Sally's livery stable manager, came twice a week to clean house and do laundry. If she had time she spelled Jonesy in the kitchen. Sally's visits were reduced to Saturdays, for the horses.

Due to several days of cyclic snowfall, daytime thawing and nighttime freezing, the stage road was a glistening ribbon of white. Sally and an entourage of laughing children had driven in first thing in the morning, just as the ranch crew were sitting down to breakfast. The merry jingling of sleigh bells announced their arrival, drawing everyone out to the front porch.

"I'll be damned!" Jonesy sputtered. "I haven't seen one a them things since I was a pup back in Indiana!"

"One a what things, Jonesy?" Andy chirped, elbowing his way to the forefront. "Oh! A sleigh!"

"She's a beaut, too! That there's a gen-yoo-wine Portland cutter manufactured by Peter Kimball and Sons in Maine... about 1850, I'd say. Someone's kept 'er in tiptop condition—look at that paint job! All that brass brightwork polished up so nice!"

"Where'd you get that, Miss Sally? Can we go for a ride?"

"Maybe later, Andy. Let's give these horses a rest first. Gentlemen... I could use some assistance, please!"

Slim, Opie and Mild Bill had already stepped into their boots and pulled on their coats. High-stepping out to the sleigh, the old men peeled back the lap rugs in the rear seat and untangled five animated bundles that resolved themselves into Young Doc and Pearl's two offspring and Avery and Martha Jackson's trio. When Jonesy called out for them to carry the children inside, Sally stopped him.

"They've been cooped up back there for two hours... best let 'em run around and work off some of that nervous energy!"

Sally's six-year-old son Jacob sniffed with disdain when asked if he wanted to play outside for a while. He was perched stiff-backed on the front seat, self-consciously guarding the covered basket containing his recently adopted Sioux sister. Tiger Lily was five weeks old as near they could figure, being as she'd been abandoned on the Sherman's front porch on that same awful day that'd brought everyone else down.

 **Resplendent in a full-length** hooded Barguzin sable coat over her customary overalls, Sally descended regally from the seat, accepting Slim's outstretched hand. She gestured to Jacob to hand down the basket before getting down himself, then returned it to him.

"Lily needs feeding. I'm sure Kim or Jess will be happy to oblige if you'll warm up her bottle a little..."

"I'll do it, Mama..."

"We were just sitting down to eat, Sally..." Slim ventured.

"Don't let me stop you. You all go back inside. I'll be in soon as I get these animals put up..."

"Oh... we'll do that for you, Miss Sally!" the old men chimed. They adored her.

"Nonsense! I always take care of my own horses."

"Those look like Schell's Belgians to me." Slim forced a grin.

"And so they are, on loan to me while the brewery's closed. The sleigh belongs to Lee Wing."

"Nice coat. Don't believe I've ever seen you wear it before."

"Aunt Em decided her winter fur was no longer age appropriate so she's passed it on to me. I know what you're thinking... I look like a buffalo cow and it's a good thing there aren't any starving Indians around..."

Slim took a step backward and held up both hands. "I wasn't thinking anything of the sort," he lied.

 _(_ _ **Gracie's note...**_ _Matthew Sherman Junior and Salviah Whatleigh had known each since childhood—long before he'd acquired the sobriquet 'Slim'. Sally did in fact appear intimidatingly large, enough so that any warrior with an ounce of self-preservation would think twice before approaching her. At six feet tall with bounteous curves, she was the very antithesis of society's vision of the perfect female—most often to be found in her metalworker's outfit of men's chambray workshirt, bib-and-brace denim overalls and farmer's brogans with her chocolate-brown hair haphazardly plaited at the nape of her neck or in an untidy and unfashionable bun. Her hands were scarred and pocked with the badges of the blacksmith's trade._

 _Slim was probably the only person in town who remembered Sally as a teenager or, in the year before war broke out, the properly attired schoolmarm fresh from college back East. In his eyes she looked the same now as she had back then, certainly eye-catching... but never dainty and demure. When he'd returned from his military service, it was to find Sally a widow with a young son and a most unlikely profession. Their current relationship seemed a natural progression of old friends who weren't prepared to commit to a more formal union.)_

 **Sally had her back to him,** unhooking trace chains. "When you go in, tell Jonesy to put the company coffee pot on. Fred's right behind us. He detoured by Barlett's for a minute."

"I was planning on walking to the barn with you."

She shot him an irritated glance. "I really don't need..."

"Not to help..." Slim cut in. "Just to talk..."

"Okay. Sure..." Coiling the reins, Sally marched toward the barn, the huge horses following docilely.

Mild Bill and Opie'd already turned out the barn stock for the day to stretch their legs. After breakfast they'd return to do the mucking out. Sally put the Belgians into adjoining vacant stalls and removed their bridles. Out of habit, Slim fetched a bucket of water while Sally scooped oats into a pail and dumped them into the feed boxes.

Satisfied that the horses were comfortable, she strolled toward the barn door where Slim waited, slouched against a roof support. She'd worn her hair loose today and long twists of it had escaped the hood to frame her face. Thinking about what lay under that luxurious coat, he had an instant reaction that fortunately was concealed beneath his own coat. Not for the first time he wondered why the two of them couldn't come to an accommodation on the subject of a permanent alliance. Other than not being in love, they suited each other in most other ways. People married—successfully—for many other reasons, didn't they?

"What did you want to talk about, Matt?" Sally busied herself brushing off horsehair and particles of hay chaff. Slim resisted the urge to simply wrap his arms around the woman and kiss her soundly. That wasn't their style and not something they did outside a locked hotel room door... except for that one time in the house, which had startled the both of them...

"Cheyenne. When we might be able to schedule another getaway..."

"Cheyenne? Oh... that... really... with everything still up in the air, I just don't see the possibility... not anytime soon."

"I didn't mean next week... I was thinking more along the lines of somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas..."

"There's still so much to do... and with Lily..."

"Like what? Peach can look after the baby and Jake can stay here. He likes Jess and Kim a lot and Andy'd enjoy the company..." _Don't whine—it's unbecoming._

"Great. Then they'd all know, wouldn't they? About us."

"Sal... I'm pretty sure they all _already_ know. Look... it doesn't have to be Cheyenne. How about Denver?" _Upping the ante will get you nowhere._

"Jess is still going to need a lot of caretaking after the cast comes off... especially then, because..."

 _Since when is Jess' comfort a consideration?_ "Jess isn't too happy with me right now. I guess maybe I was a little hard on him. I've backed away to give him some breathing space until he cools off. Whatever care he needs he can just as well get from Jonesy." _Well, shit. That sounds like I don't care..._

"I wasn't referring to physical assistance, although he just might need restraint to keep him off that leg until it's completely healed. He respects you, Matt. He'll listen to you."

"I'm not his mother, Sally. And I'm pretty convinced Jess Harper doesn't listen to anybody but his own bugler!" That came out sharper than he intended. _Damn it!_

"And I'm telling you he needs your emotional support... right now, as a matter of fact."

"Frankly, right now Jess is being a jerk..." _Slim, you idiot... put a sock in it!_

"Good grief! Can't you find just a little spark of compassion for his feelings?"

"Like you, you mean? Where does all this sudden concern come from? Used to be you two couldn't stand each other." _Stop. Talking. Now._

"What do you mean... ' _like me'?_ Hasn't it been obvious how scared he's been... of the possibility that he might never again be able to walk normally, without crutches? Jesus, Matt! I thought better of you."

"There's a line between showing compassion and helping a man face up to what life throws at him!" _Oh oh... that did it. Now she's really ticked off!_

"What is it with you men and your inability to admit emotional vulnerability? And lower your voice. You're attracting attention."

 _Oh... like you aren't?_ A glance out the partially opened door confirmed Sally's statement. The five children throwing snowballs nearby had stopped moving and were staring in their direction.

Slim shook his head with a rueful chuckle. "Can you believe it? We're about to have our first fight and it's over Jess!" _Sometimes humor works..._

"It's not our first and it's not necessarily just about him."

"About Cheyenne..." _...or persistence. Or not._

"We'll talk about it later... some other time."

As Sally turned to go, Slim grasped her arm. "Be honest, Sal... is it that you don't want to go anywhere now... or that you just don't want to go with _me?_ " _Bad move. Bad, bad move! Never back her into a corner..._

"Let go. Your breakfast is getting cold, Matt. And I have work to do."

Positive he was detecting a note of regret in her voice, Slim searched her liquid brown eyes for a spark of hope... and found none. He'd lost her. _Smooth move, idiot!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_ _ **—**_ **AGGRAVATION**

" _ **The path of my life is strewn with cow pats from the devil's own satanic herd!"**_ _(Rowan Atkinson)_

 **The days that followed** brought no lessening of the tension permeating the Sherman household. On the positive side, it didn't get any worse. Exaggerated politeness on all sides ruled daily interactions that couldn't be avoided.

An unexpected weather system brought a chinook wind surging over the Snowy range and across the Laramie basin to the town, where the snowpack disappeared overnight. Residents awoke to find streets reduced to quagmires that squelched over the tops of shoes and low-cut boots. Every housewife in town stood ready to defend her threshold against mud- and manure-laden feet.

Despite the five hundred foot difference in elevation between town and the Sherman ranch, enough warm wind swept up into the foothills to turn the yard into a morass. Though the temperature shot up into the fifties, driving rain made outdoor chores a misery.

The eastbound coach was late due to the extra time needed to plod upwards over an almost impassable road. Its transportees, already thoroughly soaked and muddied just climbing onboard, didn't mind tramping into the ranch house and resting after four hours transiting twelve miles. Jonesy couldn't very well demand they remove their footwear, as he did with the folks living under the roof, so he stood by the door with mop and rags, trying to stem the incoming tide of debris as best he could. It was one of Miss Martha's days to be there but she wasn't expected in these weather conditions. The westbound stage was also very late, with the weary passengers declining to debark and demanding refreshments be brought out to them.

By Wednesday, anticipating the very real possibility of bogging down in the ruts, driver Mose Shell had requested and been granted an extra team. All six horses were lathered up and trembling with exhaustion as Opie led them away into the dry of the barn to be unharnessed. As only four were ready to hook up, Slim and Mild Bill were obliged to slog through the boggy north pasture to fetch another pair of horses.

The animals were bunched up in the cottonwood grove at the far corner of the pasture, and not inclined to leave shelter. By the time the two men had selected and trapped their victims and fought them all the way to the barn, Slim started coughing. Almost an hour elapsed before the stage was on its way again.

 **As soon as Slim came through the front door,** Jonesy pounced, demanding he immediately remove his damp garments and park his quilt-wrapped self and his cough in one of the rockers by the fire.

"I'm not sick," Slim protested. "Just a little chilled."

"An' you ain't gonna get sick, neither. Not if I have anything to say about it. You stay right there an' I'll fix you up a nice hot toddy that'll stop that coughin'."

From the muffled noise and laughter emanating from the back of the house, Slim figured Kim and Andy were helping Jess get his bath. The operation took two people: one to keep the cast elevated above the water once they'd lowered him in, and another to act as spotter in case he slipped under—not to mention hauling him out. Later on when they were done, Slim would take his own turn in the oversized oval zinc tub.

"Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail," Jonesy advised, going to the kitchen. Carefully removing Slim's mama's Wedgwood teapot from the breakfront cabinet, Jonesy spooned in loose tea before adding boiling water and setting the pot aside to steep.

Under the work counter in a strongbox to which he possessed the only key, Jonesy maintained a recently restocked pharmacopia of noxious substances, including a variety of narcotics in both powder and liquid form. A small enameled tin contained opium balls the size of pigeon's eggs nestled in parchment paper. From these Jonesy formulated his own home remedies for everything from hangnail to snakebite, storing them in squat brown cork-stoppered bottles, each neatly labeled.

Straining the tea into two man-size coffee cups, he added several dollops of honey plus two shots of 'cough elixir' to Slim's and one to his own as a preventive measure.

In the meantime, Slim sorted through the mail. Normally people had to go to the post office in Laramie to collect their mail, but the postmaster, Dennis Layfield, had been a close friend of Slim's father and favored the son with preferential treatment, sending along with Mose any mail going to the ranch. Today, there was a letter for Jonesy from his daughter in St. Louis. Slim had an eight-year-old's dim memory of Alice Jones at thirteen—a right little hellcat in freckles and braids, challenging him to a pony race, and a slightly clearer image of her at eighteen, as he'd last seen her. Pretty little thing! Her mother had taken her away to St. Louis and they'd never returned.

 **Assuming it was the annual holiday missive,** Slim held it out in exchange for a steaming mug of something that reeked of alcohol. Jonesy pinched the envelope between thumb and forefinger and studied it with distrust.

"You gonna read it or divine it?" Slim grinned.

"Too early for Christmas. Must be bad news."

Jonesy was naturally querulous if not downright morose, even on his good days. He desired no more in his life than an orderly, undisturbed day... and frequently complained there hadn't been one in this house since a certain supposedly now-reformed gunfighter had drifted in. Unfortunately, this was true. Although it was hardly fair to blame Jess for _everything_ that went wrong, he all too often _was_ the cause.

Setting himself down in the matching rocker on the other side of the fireplace, Jonesy carefully slit the envelope, withdrawing the contents and reading the single sheet. He didn't look happy, but then it was hard to tell from his normal look.

"Well?" Slim finally queried. "Someone die?"

"Yes. Elizabeth. Two weeks ago, accordin' to the date on this letter."

"What do you care? You haven't seen her in twenty years."

Jonesy shrugged. "I don't much, really. I suppose it's somethin' Allie thought I needed to know."

"What does she want from you?" Slim asked bluntly.

"Wants me to come, meet her girls... my granddaughters."

"You going?"

"I'll have to think on it."

"Left it kinda late, hasn't she? How many of 'em are there?" Jonesy had never offered much information on his family life. Slim had never asked and had impressed on Andy that that was a closed subject.

"Four. Beth, when she left, made it real clear she never wanted to see my ugly mug again. She's been livin' with Alice an' her family all this time so there weren't no way I could go visit 'em."

"But now... the coast's clear?"

Jonesy heaved a deep sigh. "That ain't all, Slim."

"Oh?"

"She wants me to live with 'em. There, in St. Louis. Wants to make up for lost time, she says. Wants me to be 'comfortable in my old age'. Says she's got a big old house, plenty of room."

Stunned, Slim slowly digested the idea of Jonesy not being around. That he'd someday _die_ , yes. Never that he might simply _leave_. The man had been a fixture in the Sherman family for over fifteen years. He _was_ family... as much as Andy. In the way Slim hoped... _had_ hoped... Jess would come to be... _someday_. That is, if they could overcome their current predicament... even though Jess had inadvertently come between himself and Sally.

"I don't know what to say, Jonesy."

"Nothin' to say... yet. Said I'll think on it an' I will."

"Andy would be devastated... so would I."

"Slim, you forget... Andy won't _be_ here a year from now. He'll be in St. Louis, too... if I go. We could see each other every week, likely."

"What about me?"

"What about you? You're almost thirty. 'Bout time you took yourself a wife an' started up your own family. You don't need an oldtimer what's outgrowed his usefulness hangin' around... anymore than you need..."

 _Jess, of course..._ "Don't say it, Jonesy. You know I don't want to hear it."

"You're gonna hear it anyway. That boy was born under a wanderin' star. He'll never be what you want him to be. He'll break your heart."

"I can't talk about this anymore today... but I'll have some more of that remedy if there's any left."

"Comin' right up!"

 _Funny... I never really thought much about what it would be like, living alone. After Andy goes away to school. After Jonesy passes away. I guess I've been counting too much on Jess deciding to stay on... but maybe Jonesy's right and it's too late for him to bond. Which means he wouldn't stick with Sally, either. If he hurts her I'll kill him..._

 _(_ _ **Gracie's observation re Jebediah Ezekiel Jones...**_ _In an era and in a primarily agrarian society where the median life expectancy for the average male—provided he survived infancy, in itself chancy—hovered around fifty, Jeb Jones counted himself fortunate to have attained the respectable age of sixty-one. He could reasonably expect to survive another decade or two—long enough to have witnessed Slim finally finding himself a good woman to wed and producing a passel of children to entertain Jonesy in his old age. The prospect of a similar outcome for Jess was dismally unlikely—young men of his persuasion rarely made it to thirty. As for Andy, Jonesy had every confidence that he'd still be around to celebrate when Andy returned from college with a fancy sheepskin that could be proudly displayed on the parlor wall, no matter what profession the boy ended up pursuing._

 _These future projections were about to change... but Jonesy didn't know it yet._

 _Once Jess had asked Andy about Jonesy's background but the boy professed to have no idea. 'He's just Jonesy. He's always been here.' An inquiry to Slim produced only the advice that Mister Jones was an intensely private man with a don't-ask, don't-tell policy. Unless you wanted to be told to go to hell and mind your own business, best not question Jonesy about his history. Which, of course, made Jess all the more curious. What infamous deeds could this dried-up old stick of a geezer possibly have racked up in his past? Surely they couldn't rival Jess' own checkered career, could they?_

 _On his periodic forays into town, Jonesy often disappeared for hours on end with no explanation. Oftimes he called on his good friend Wing Chen Li in the latter's palatial enclave at a slight remove from the majority of the white residential part of town. They had been introduced to each other by Lee Wing's son-in-law, Doctor Wilfred Whatleigh. The Oxford-educated Wing had immediately recognized a similarly erudite soul hiding behind a carefully crafted façade and at length had drawn from him the admission of having earned a degree from the Indiana University School of Law—something not even the Sherman family had ever known._

 _Aside from Young Doc, Jonesy was one of the very few white people who had ever been admitted to the gentleman's domicile, much less given the honor of a standing invitation, whenever he was in town, to break fortune cookies and share tea in the Oriental equivalent of the traditional English afternoon tea break._

 _While the exterior of the Wing residence was drearily comparable in every way to the white folks' homes, the interior—excepting Lee's study modeled after a British gentlemen's club—was gloriously furnished in the most opulent Oriental style. Lee and Jonesy shared philosophical interests in the human condition and spent many hours in spirited discourse over cultural differences and global affairs while the everpresent domestics glided about silent as ghosts. In Lee's presence Jonesy felt free to drop his homeboy persona and revert to the more cultured speech of an educated Midwesterner._

 _Over the course of time Jonesy had come to understand that Missus Wing, a tiny rotund figure with piggy eyes and a perpetually pursed mouth, was Number One Wife. The myriad other females apparating from the woodwork were either servants, daughters or concubines. Jonesy was never sure which were which so behaved deferentially to all of them, although it had been subtly hinted on more than one occasion that certain of the young lovelies could be made available for cohabitation—or marriage—should he so desire. Missus Wing couldn't understand how the_ gweilos _could make do with only one wife. Jonesy couldn't understand why any man in his right mind would want more than one._

 _With florid apologies, Jonesy consistently declined these offers on the grounds of pre-existing commitment. He had for many years been carrying on a highly discreet association with one Emmaline Giancomo, a refined personage of mature years who served as head nurse in her nephew Young Doc's clinic and, incidentally, was proprietess of the Prairie Rose sporting house under the_ nom-de-guerre _of Madame Aline._

 _Jonesy's relationship to the Wing household remained every bit as secretive a segment of his hidden social life as Emmaline. If Slim had any suspicions about Jonesy's private life, he'd never let on. Jess would have been knocked for a loop. Young Doc considered his knowledge confidential and kept it to himself.)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_ _ **—**_ **CONFESSION**

" _ **Confession is good for the soul only in the sense that a tweed coat is**_

 _ **good for dandruff—it is a palliative rather than a remedy."**_ _(Peter De Vries)_

 **(** _ **Gracie's commentary...**_ _Kim Kahále hadn't made it as far as town when he'd been sidelined, so not too many people outside the Sherman's circle of friends and immediate neighbors were aware of his presence. It was now an open secret among them that Kim was a fugitive with an absurdly astronomical price on his head, although he hadn't divulged what he'd actually done. [The two people he'd told, in confidence, were Sally and Lychee McNutt, his secretly retained lawyer.] When Kim'd stressed that the people searching for him were ruthless, and that by providing sanctuary Slim was putting his household at risk, the rancher's stubborn streak overrode practical considerations._

 _Slim'd struggled with his conscience over the matter of harboring a wanted man in order to serve his own purpose: Ensuring his brother was accepted into that exclusive school. He reasoned that he'd already defied public opinion in bringing a known gunfighter under his roof… and got away with it. Furthermore, it was highly unlikely any bad element had traced his houseguest from the west coast to the inland empire of Wyoming. And if any bounty hunter did show up… why, he'd just deal with that when it happened. But as the weeks passed and nothing untoward landed on their doorstep, Slim gradually relaxed his guard.)_

 _(_ _ **Nonie's forewarning...**_ _to anyone who might find the followin' offensive. But it_ was _a somewhat unusual exchange an' did have bearin' on future events. For the record, I'm Catholic my ownself though Harp's Methodist... we're active in both churches. Other folks might have a problem with that but we don't.)_

 **Friday, November 18th...** early on an uncommonly warm afternoon, the front porch was populated with sun-seeking inmates in a postprandial stupor. After lunch, Missus Jackson had booted them all outdoors in order to subject the floors to a much-needed scrubbing and the interior to a desperately-needed airing out. And until the floors were dry, the entire house was off limits.

Jonesy and Slim were arrayed in rocking chairs flanking Jess' wheelchair when Father Sean Padraic Cormac Flynn ambled up on his gigantic speckled mule. Sitting on the top porch step were Andy and a fifth individual Father Sean didn't recognize... presumably the person he'd been summoned to attend.

The priest dismounted and stepped up to the porch, fanning himself with his ratty black felt galero and tugging at the neckline of his uncomfortably warm black serge cassock. From beneath the too-short moth-eaten garment protruded the frayed hems of dirty faded denim trousers and scuffed, filthy boots that'd seen better days.

 _(_ _ **Gracie's note...**_ _At first glance Father Flynn seemed stereotypically Irish... curly red hair and beard going gray and in need of shearing, shaggy eyebrows over merry eyes of faded blue, freckles competing with a deep tan on a cheerful unlined countenance. He was forty-seven although to most people he appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Five feet shorter and he could've been a poster child for the 'Little People' although there was nothing leprechaunish about the muscular body concealed beneath the clerical garb._

 _Father Flynn's deplorable reputation as a hollow-legged bare-knuckle brawler was well-known. However, Mother Church chose to overlook his distressing affinity for spirituous liquor and subsequent intimate familiarity with Laramie's lock-up. He was far too useful in his current post, overseeing a devoted congregation consisting mainly of native converts and the poor and disadvantaged people from the wrong side of the tracks. If Father Flynn were to be reassigned, the other two Roman churches in town would be forced to absorb them into their nice middle-class edifices. No... much better to leave that anthill undisturbed.)_

 **Everyone bar Jess** stood up respectfully, Slim offering his hand over the railing. "Good afternoon, padre. What brings you out this way?"

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I've been hearing of your difficulties from our mutual friend Counselor McNutt. Good to see you all up and about. Actually, I'm here by Lychee's request to see a... Mr. Kim, is it?"

"I'm Kim. Nice to meet you, Father...?" Kim had come around to shake hands with the tall priest. Eyeing the fishing pole jammed in with the rifle in its scabbard and the creel hanging off the horn of the mule's saddle, he added, "Hope you didn't interrupt your day off for this..."

"Father Sean. Ah well... the fish will always be there but a soul on the line wants reeling in quickly before it slips the hook, I always say."

Four pairs of eyes regarded them with undisguised curiosity.

Slim made a face. "I'd invite you in for a cup of coffee or tea, padre... but Missus Jackson threw us out so she could clean and we haven't been allowed back in yet."

"Not to worry, Mister Sherman. I must confess I am awash with tea after stopping off at the Bartlett's along the way and staying a mite longer than I should have. Is there somewhere your young friend and I could converse privately?"

"Of course, padre... pick any place you like," Slim said. "As long as it isn't in the house."

Kim pointed to the cottonwood grove in the pasture where he and Lychee'd conducted their business the prior week. "Will that do? There's a big rock we can sit on. You can't see it from here."

"God's own cathedral," the big priest grinned. "It'll do splendidly. Lead on, McDuff!"

Jess looked to Slim. "Who in blue blazes is McDuff?"

"Shakespeare..."

"What spear?"

"Never mind."

Slim asked Andy to take charge of Goliath—product of a mammoth jack and a Percheron mare—and see to it that he got watered and fed. It had seemed impolite to inquire how long the priest's business with his houseguest would take, so he hadn't asked.

"Whaddya reckon all that's about?" Jess commented as Slim sat back down.

"Don't have a clue."

 **Hiking toward the cottonwoods,** Father Sean apologized for not having answered the summons sooner.

"I had planned to come straightaway after being apprised of your request by Counselor McNutt but, I am embarrassed to admit, my intentions were interrupted by having to serve thirty days at the county sheriff's pleasure."

"That's okay. You're here now."

The priest eyeballed his comparatively diminutive companion with interest. "I've not met anyone hailing from the Sandwich Islands before. At the risk of offense, you're not what I expected."

"No offense. I'm not your typical islander. In fact, I have no Hawaiian native blood at all. I'm half European, one-quarter Chinese and one-quarter Melanesian."

"How extraordinary. Lychee explained your unusual circumstances and said you requested me specifically... may I ask why?"

"I need an unusual man to help me with some unusual problems. According to him, you fit the bill."

"Am I to understand your need isn't necessarily of a spiritual nature?"

"I won't lie to you, Father. Basically, no... it's not. I do need your help, though, and I'd prefer it be under the seal of the confessional. For the same reasons I hired Lychee."

"I see," said Father Sean, who didn't. "So all this is a sham? The sacrament of confession is a serious business, Mr. Kim. I cannot—I will not—hear yours in order to facilitate some underhanded doings. Are you even Catholic?"

"It's just Kim, Father. And yes I am—baptized, communed, confirmed, altar boy... the whole enchilada. I know all the Latin responses... you can quiz me on that if you like."

"I'll take your word for it. We'd better get something straight right from the get-go, sonny. Whatever it is you're up to, it had better not be illegal, immoral, treasonous, injurious or heretical. Got that?"

"None of the above, I promise you. Not fattening, either. But I can't explain until... you know... we're done."

"Shall I be blunt? What do I... does the Church, rather... get out of this deal if I agree to it? Not that I'm open to bribery."

"The Church... nothing except our eternal thanks. But your parish stands to benefit... I understand from Lychee that yours is the poorest and least regarded in the Cheyenne diocese. Is that correct?"

"Frankly, we suck hind tit. What do you mean by 'our'?"

"My family. We're prepared to be generous in that regard."

"How generous are we talking, lad?"

"Very... very... _extremely_ very..."

"Would that generosity extend to... say... new roofs for the sanctuary and rectory?"

"That and more... whatever's needed."

Father Sean studied the ground at his feet, his lips pursed in the decisioning process. "All right... I'll do it... with the understanding that if I don't like what I hear, you get no absolution and your immortal soul will be in peril."

"I'm prepared to take the chance, Father."

Father Sean sighed deeply and held his hands up in resignation. "Let's get started then. I hope I don't regret this."

They took their places back to back on the rock. Father Sean made the Sign of the Cross and Kim led off.

" **Bless me Father for I have sinned."**

"Who hasn't? Oh... sorry... go on."

"It's been... um... a while—I can't remember—since my last confession."

"Better late than never. Start with the worst sin you can remember."

"How about if I just go down the Big Ten?"

"Whatever. Just don't carry the facetiousness too far."

"Okay... number one... I prayed to Buddha once and to Pélé twice, by accident."

"Don't make a habit of it!" the priest reproved.

"Number two... I have a graven image on my back, but I didn't put it there and I've never prayed to it. Anyway, it's not a god."

"A tattoo? Really? Can I see it?"

"Later. Number three... I've taken the Lord's name in vain a whole lot of times... it just slips out in the heat of the moment."

"As long as you didn't capitalize the 'G', we'll let that one slide."

"Number four... about keeping the Sabbath? Haven't done too well on that one... but I figured out that if I have to stay here doing nothing for about fifty-six days, that's four more days than a year's worth of Sundays? Does that count?"

"We won't quibble over chronology. Proceed."

"Number five... about my parents who, incidentally, aren't married. Haven't seen 'em lately but I'll be sure to honor 'em when I do. That's a promise. Or at least not dishonor 'em any more than I've already done."

"As long as you abide by that promise..."

"Number six... that's a tough one, because I did in fact kill someone."

"Recently?"

"No."

"Was it justifiable?"

"Yes."

"Do you regret your action?"

"Not in the least."

"No remorse?"

"None at all."

"So you'd do it... him... again?"

"Absolutely... only sooner."

Father Sean sighed. "Are you planning on killing anyone in the near future?"

"Not unless I have to."

"Hmnnnnn... let's table that one for the time being."

"Thank you. Now... number seven... I'm sorry to have to admit I've committed adultery in the past year... as often as I could. I can't promise there won't be a recurrence because just this morning I was thinking about doing it again."

"Oh dear. Were any of these adulterees married?"

"Don't think so. Don't know for sure, though."

"Technically, it's not adultery unless one of you is married."

"I'm pleading the Fifth on that one."

"The Fifth Commandment?"

"No... the Fifth Amendment."

"Don't be ridiculous. You aren't even a citizen."

"Busted. Can we move along? Number eight... I stole a horse."

"Was it a valuable horse?"

"That's debatable."

"Have you considered either returning the animal or recompensing the owner?"

"That would be difficult. He's dead."

"Er... the horse or the owner?"

"The owner."

"I take it that was the individual you... um... terminated?"

"Yes."

"I'm obliged to point out that hereabouts stealing a horse is a worse offense than killing a man. This is a grievous compoundment of sins, my son!"

"Can I uncompound it by saying, cross my heart, I haven't given false testimony to anyone?"

"I'll take it under consideration."

"That last one... number ten... I'm having a torment of conscience there. See, there's this... friend's woman I'm coveting something awful... I don't want to, but there you go. I know I can't have her, but I want her."

"Anyone I know?"

"I'm not going to answer that."

"Has this woman fallen under number seven yet... that is... have you and she...?"

"No, not yet."

"Are you likely to?"

"Not very likely, no... but... hope springs eternal."

"I would suggest coveting some other woman... one not privately owned. There's a lot of those laying about in Laramie—no pun intended, ha ha. No one would mind much. On the other hand, you'd then be violating number seven... as I see it, a no-win situation. Oh... and let me point out that stealing a man's wife—although not as reprehensible as stealing his horse—is generally frowned upon and considered unbecoming conduct."

"They're not actually married... but they do have an understanding."

"I see. Anything else?"

"That's it. Are we still under the seal of the confessional?"

"Yes indeed."

"Well, here's what I need..."

"Hold on there, son... let's revisit number six." Father Sean swiveled on his side of the rock so that he could face Kim. "Turn around... I would see your eyes."

"As you wish." Kim scooted around to face the priest with a countenance devoid of expression.

"About this man you say you killed... I take it this wasn't combat-related in wartime conditions?"

"No."

"Self defense?"

"Sort of but not exactly."

"In defense of someone else?"

"Indirectly."

Father Sean heaved a great mournful sigh. "Lad... give me _something_ to go on..."

Kim spoke quietly, with chilling calm. "The man was a pedophile, Father. Everyone knew it... but he was too powerful and too politically important. The victims and their families were too terrorized to speak up or fight back. No one dared challenge him."

"But _you_ did..."

"Not intentionally. I saw an opportunity and took it without premeditation. We fought. He lost... but not before he got his chance at me. He struck the first blow." At this juncture Kim slid off the rock and pulled up the shirt from his back, exposing the winged dragon tattooed there and the long scar bisecting it diagonally from shoulder blade to hip.

Father Sean whistled. "That was a mighty smite indeed. What made it?"

"Cane cutter. You ever seen one?"

"I have, yes. And did you employ that selfsame device to dispatch your adversary?"

"I did. And then I ran as soon as I was able. Came here to the States. I was doing good until my horse rolled on me."

Father Sean rubbed his chin, beetle brows rising and falling in consternation as he wracked his brain for the appropriate biblical prohibitions against pedophilia. As it happened, there weren't any concerning this heinous offense. Certainly if he _himself_ had encountered someone engaging in such practices, he wouldn't have thought twice before offing the scumbag! Death would be too good... too _easy._

Folding his hands together, Father Sean cleared his throat. "In my personal opinion, any man who would inflict such indecencies and suffering on children has relinquished his claim to the human race. He's become an animal—a vicious, predatory creature deserving of immediate eradication. Therefore, I'm giving you a pass on that one."

"Thought you might. Thanks, Father."

"How long do you plan on staying hereabouts?"

"I've promised to stay until I've taught Andy Sherman enough to pass his matriculation exams, even if I'm able to ride sooner. Slim saved my life. I owe him."

"According to Lychee there's quite an astounding bounty if you can be returned dead or alive to your homeland. Would it not be more convenient for an agent engaged in fugitive retrieval to simply exterminate you on the spot?"

"It's a matter of face and family honor... they want me back alive so they can mount a public spectacle and _then_ kill me."

Father Sean's face clouded. "If you have access to fiscal resources despite being on the run, then you must be maintaining contact with your people back home. Have you considered how that provides a means of tracing you... that you're putting at risk the lives of these folks?"

"That's Lychee's role, padre... handling the money trail so it's untraceable. He's set up a triple-blind communications pipeline we hope is foolproof. That's how the money's going to move from where it is to here where I need it... and where you're going to get your part of it. Now, can we can we talk about what I want done?"

"You have my undivided attention, my son..."

 **Kim received his absolution** and got as penance ten Hail Marys per transgression plus an additional ten as a cautionary deterrent against the possible as-yet uncommitted adultery. He promised to make a good act of contrition as they wound around steaming heaps of manure back to the house where, bearing the first dispatch of his new commission, the clandestine courier climbed back aboard his monstrous mule and ambled away.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_ _ **—**_ **TRIAL AND TRIBULATION**

" _ **Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs**_

 _ **should relax and get used to the idea."**_ _(Robert A. Heinlein)_

 **Saturday, November 19th, before sunrise...** Unable to slide back into sleep and unwilling to get up, the solitary occupant of the bunkroom lay flat on his back, fingertips resting on hipbones considerably more prominent than they'd been the month before—he'd lost a lot of weight and muscle tone since the accident. At his last examination, Young Doc had opined that although the fractured ribs had appeared to knit satisfactorily it would be prudent to put off any heavy lifting for another month or so. The bullet graze on his shoulder had also healed, leaving a minor scar. So why didn't he feel any better than he did?

Muffled noises snaking under the door indicated the morning was getting underway out there in the kitchen... cast iron skillets clunking on the stove, the mumble of voices interacting at the breakfast table, the scents of fresh-brewed coffee mingling with fried bacon and eggs and biscuits hot from the oven. Still Kim lay there trying to convince himself his general indisposition was due to real physical aches and not psychosomatic complaints.

Footsteps in the hallway. The door creaking open for a moment then gently closing again while he played possum. If only the stiffness lurking at the back of his neck would somehow fade away before he had to get up. Hopefully the mild headache he was experiencing wasn't going to develop into the sort of debilitating pain—with nausea, visual disruptions and acute sensitivity to light—that had plagued him since childhood.

Eventually the noise in the kitchen diminished to a single individual as everyone else finished eating and went off to attend to their various duties. Remembering that it was Saturday and Sally would be rolling in soon, Kim forced himself to get up and dressed. He needed to find something to do today that would distance himself from the woman he desired and couldn't have. Slim's woman.

 _(_ _ **Gracie's commentary...**_ _Some years ago in Honolulu, a doctor claiming to be a specialist in neurological disorders had diagnosed Kim's problem as 'migraine'—a condition brought on by any number of 'triggers', with no known cure and most effectively countered by confining oneself to a dark, quiet place for the duration. The man had also prescribed treatment with a cannabis tincture manufactured by Lloyd Brothers. 'Dark' could be had by remaining in the bunkroom all day if necessary... but 'quiet'? Not a chance. The only alternative would be to get away from the seething stress in the house itself... if only for a couple of hours._

 _Raised in a nominally Christian household, Kim's French-Melanesian mother had a certain regard for traditional Western practices when dealing with actual physical injury or illness. But when it came to intangible afflictions—illnesses of the soul or spirit [under which 'headache' fell]—Liliana leaned toward a more holistic approach, believing that the power to restore health and harmony came from within rather than without. From infancy, Kim and his siblings had been subjected to a variety of alternative medicine—particularly forms of Eastern mysticism generally scorned in the educated Western world. One of the practices in which her children had received formal, intensive training was meditation.)_

 **The temperate weather** brought on by the chinook would last only a few days. Spirits had risen right along with the temperature, which looked to be rising into the sixties by afternoon, and the ongoing wind had dried most of the mud. Jonesy was putting away the last of the dishes as Kim emerged from the passageway after attending to morning necessities. Clearly breakfast was long over.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"Checked, you was still sound asleep. You all right?"

"Been better."

Jonesy waved toward the kitchen table. "Set yourself down. I put some back for you."

"No thanks, I'll pass on the food but I'll take some coffee if there's any left." Kim moved toward the stove but Jonesy intervened.

"Sit. I'll get it for you. You're lookin' mighty peaked, boy... like you need a dose of my spring tonic."

"Just a little headache, Jonesy. I'll try walking it off first, if you don't mind. Slim and Andy already out?"

"They was riding over to the south pasture this morning to check on the cows. Mild Bill and Opie say they seen wolf sign out that way."

"Where's Jess?"

"Oh... he's doin' some leatherwork out on the porch, enjoyin' the sun."

Jonesy brought two cups and saucers and the pot to the table, then sat down.

"Been meanin' to ask what you said to him a while back. Calmed him down for a spell but it 'pears to be wearin' off. Maybe you two could have another talk?"

"He just needed a sympathetic ear from someone with no expectations."

"Howzat?"

Kim thought carefully about framing his answer without being unduly critical of Slim Sherman and offending Jonesy. "Slim might be setting the bar too high to begin with..."

"You sayin' Jess ain't smart enough to learn?"

"Not at all. Just that Slim might be expecting too much too soon."

"Young Doc said it was important we—all of us—keep 'im busy. Keep his mind offa bein' crippled."

"It's pretty obvious Slim has other issues besides Jess' trouble with numbers. You'd know more about that than I do."

Jonesy was nodding in agreement. "It's drivin' him plumb crazy, not knowin' where all this stuff is comin' from... you know, for Andy."

"An anonymous benefactor who owes the Shermans, maybe?"

"Well... you know Slim. He's a proud man an' he ain't gonna stop 'til he finds out who it is. He's about half convinced it's the Whatleighs but Young Doc swears up and down it ain't them. Them an' Lee Wing's 'bout the only folks in town with that kinda money."

"I get the feeling there's something else eating at him." Casually throwing out that hunk of bait, Kim got an immediate hit. Jonesy looked around furtively, lowering his voice.

"Woman trouble! But don't you go sayin' nothin' about it to nobody. S'posed to be a secret. He 'specially don't want Andy an' Jess to know."

"Indeed?"

"It's like this... Slim an' Miss Sally's been... well, they've been special friends for about two years now... real close—in the Biblical sense, if you know what I mean..."

"I get the idea..."

"But here lately she's sorta gone off of him... don't know why 'cause he ain't talkin'. Sure is givin' 'im some more grief, though. Ain't like they was engaged or anythin', but he's takin' it hard an' tryin' even harder not to show it. Me, I 'spect she's set her sights on someone else. Gals are flighty like that. More coffee?"

"Yes, please." Settling in to take advantage of the old man's garrulousness, Kim took his time sugaring and creaming his brew.

"Just between you an' me, a good pirootin'd do both a them boys a world of good..."

"Does that mean what I think it does?"

"Yep... that'd take the starch outta 'em for a little while, anyways!"

"Why doesn't Slim just go to town like... well, like Jess before the accident? Sally mentioned Jess was a Saturday night regular..."

Jonesy snorted. "Because Slim's momma'd roll over in her grave, that's why. She raised up that boy to uphold certain standards an' that sure didn't include carousin' with sportin' gals for everyone in town to know about! He goes to Cheyenne every now an' again. I suspect that's where he takes care a whatever cattin' he needs to do."

"What about Sally? What would his mother have thought about _her?_ "

"Mary Grace woulda done everythin' in her power to see them two married. She thought the world a Old Doc an' his family."

Jonesy fell silent. For a moment Kim thought he was confabbed out.

"What about you?" Jonesy blurted.

"What about me?"

"You been doin' 'thout long's they have. How come you ain't all tied up in knots like them two yahoos?"

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"You ain't one a them sissyboys, are ya... like Lychee 'n Lucky?"

Kim grimaced. "No... but if I think about my wife too long I could be tempted to jump the fence."

Jonesy gave a long, low whistle.

"Whoooeeee... she must be a rough 'un!"

"You have _no_ idea."

 **Kim finally managed to disengage himself** only to be verbally accosted by Jess as he cleared the front door. In his head the intended walk had escalated to something more ambitious. Young Doc had said take it easy. He hadn't said _no riding_.

Jess had a bucket of leather strips on the floor near his chair. Several sets of reins hung over the railing, both plaited and laced. Just finishing a pair of round reins with snap hooks on the ends, he looked up, grinning, as the other came out the front door buttoning his jacket, then unbuttoning it again at the unexpected warmth.

"Missed ya at breakfast."

"Wasn't feeling too well."

The grin vanished. "Sorry to hear it. You okay now?"

"Yeah. I will be. Just need to get off by myself for a bit."

"I know that feelin'."

Kim walked over to investigate the patterned reins, so cunningly braided that no raw edges showed. "That sure is nice work, Jess. Where'd you learn that?"

"Here an' there. Long winter nights in the bunkhouse. 'Specially after losin' a month's pay playin' poker an' nothin' else to do. You like 'em? Take 'em."

"Only if you let me pay you for it..."

"No way. It's a present... kinda to make up for... well, you know..."

"You don't owe me anything, Jess. It was an accident. We settled all that."

"Take 'em anyway. Andy told me about them patched up strings on that hackamore you were usin'. It's a wonder that pony a yours didn't get away from you miles back."

"He's easy... doesn't take much pull to get his attention." Kim hefted the reins. "Thanks. I can use these right now, matter of fact. Thought I'd go for a ride..."

Jess shook his head. "Not a good idea, friend. He ain't been rode in six weeks, not since the roundup. Likely to act up."

"I'll take that chance." Kim turned toward the steps.

"Hey... Kim... hold up a minute."

"Yeah?"

"Doc say you was fit to ride?"

"Didn't say I couldn't."

"Can I ask you a question, then?"

"Sure..."

"I reckon you'll be thinkin' on movin' on, now that you can..."

"Maybe." _Yes, of course, I've been thinking about it. But not just yet._

"Maybe you'd consider hangin' around long enough for me to get back on my feet an' we can ride out together..." He sounded uncertain, almost shy.

Kim stalled. "I thought that was a dead issue." _Me... throw in with a gunslinger? Am I teetotally losing my mind? Is he out of his?_

"Whatever's wrong between me an' Slim ain't gettin' no better..."

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"Don't think he wants to. He's been keepin' himself so busy we ain't had a chance to."

Kim sighed. "I suppose you want me to sound him out?"

"Maybe you could find out what's stuck in his craw. Pretty sure it ain't just the bookwork. I musta done somethin' he don't like but dadgum if I can figger out what it was."

"I'll see what I can do. Incidentally, I wasn't planning on leaving any time real soon..."

Jess seemed satisfied with that, nodded, turned his attention back to the new strips of leather taking shape in his hands.

 **Taking a good look at** his old hackamore, Kim had to agree that it was an accident waiting to happen, choosing instead a halter from among the headstalls arrayed on pegs and a short coil of well-seasoned reata. At the pasture, Scooter responded immediately to Kim's whistle and allowed himself to be haltered and led to the barn without any trouble at all.

Weeks of indolence and a steady diet of oats and hay had wrought a significant improvement in the little yellow horse's appearance. A heavy coat of thick winter hair made him look younger and sounder than his twenty-plus years. However, judging from his stiff-legged gait, it appeared arthritis was beginning to settle into his damaged knees. Kim realized with a pang that when he did leave, it wouldn't be on this animal. He made a mental note to ask Young Doc if Scooter could join the other retirees on the Whatleigh's hobby ranch to live out his remaining days.

Kim clipped the new reins to the halter rings and went to lift his saddle off the rack, thinking better of it after a twinge rippled up his ribs. Even though Scooter was only slightly over fourteen hands in height, Kim realized it would be futile to try to leap onboard from a standing position... not after six weeks of sedentariness. Looking around, he spotted a five-gallon molasses keg... just the right size for a mounting block.

Hoisting himself onto Scooter's broad back, Kim nudged him in the direction that would ultimately bring them around to the curve in the road where they could cut off uphill towards Andy's Thinking Rock. Before they attempted the slope, Kim slipped off the pony and led him the rest of the way up to the bluff overlooking the ranch compound.

This was Kim's third visit to the boulder—a glacial erratic that sat in isolated splendor in the center of a natural depression. The first two times he'd walked up here, once being 'rescued' by one of the volunteer ranch hands and the second time followed by Sally Lowenstein. Tethering Scooter to a nearby tree with plenty of dried grass to nibble, Kim reprised that previous visit by removing his boots and jacket and sitting cross-legged on the ground with his back against the sunward side of the smooth boulder.

Kim couldn't quite bring himself to believe in the efficacy of prayer, prophetic visions, angelic visitations or out-of-body experiences such as astral projection—spiritually removing one's self to a psychological sanctuary. However, he'd had some success in the past with meditation. Tilting his face to the sun, he relaxed his arms against his thighs, palms up. Closing his eyes, he willed aches and pains, stresses and anxieties to recede. To be gone. Banished. He tried closing his hearing to everything but the sounds of nature. He tried focusing on his happy place—not necessarily a physical location.

It wasn't happening. The source of his disquietude had form and substance and a name... and would not be denied. Recollection flowed over him of what happened—or had _nearly_ happened—that day weeks ago when Sally had trailed him up here.

 **The two of them had stayed together** for hours... talking, holding hands... no doubt in either of their minds that, if not for his newly-broken ribs, a much more intimate activity would have transpired. Kim relived every word of that momentous conversation with diamond clarity—as if it had happened yesterday rather than weeks ago. At the time, he'd fully expected there would be a follow-up of some sort... either conversational or physical... perhaps one leading to the other. But Indian summer had abruptly transitioned through a brief, chilly autumn to early winter, curtailing outdoor activities aside from the necessary.

Sally's visitations had dwindled to Saturdays and there were no more opportunities for such private encounters. Whatever exchanges they had were impersonal although occasionally, when no one was looking or likely to notice, she'd slip him an impish grin or a sly wink. It was as if that day had never happened. Eventually he'd packed away the memory in a mental box and nailed down the lid... until today, when it had come flooding back.

The hoped-for meditative interlude had only produced more confusion and worse: indecision. His anxiety closet was filled to bursting. If he were capable of moving on, then he should do so. Soon. But he hadn't yet fulfilled his promise to Slim—Andy was far from ready to sit entrance exams. Kim's domestic status remained unchanged. The woman he wanted was beyond his reach. And he was still wanted by all the wrong people... including Jess, who seemed to think he'd make a great sidekick on the road to perdition.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_ _ **—**_ **THE PERILS OF EAVESDROPPING**

" _ **We're all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding."**_ _(Rudyard Kipling)_

 **No sooner had Kim disappeared** beyond the bend in the road than Sally rolled in from the other direction in a small cut-under delivery wagon Jess hadn't seen before. The dappled gelding drawing it was one of her livery rentals. The children weren't with her today so she must be intending to stay only long enough to check hooves and shoes. At the forge shed, Mild Bill materialized to take charge of the grey and Opie immediately set to work firing up the forge itself. Sally dropped her toolkit on the workbench and strolled toward the house. It would take a while for the forge to reach optimum heat.

"Hey Jess. How you doin' this fine morning?"

"Not too bad. Yourself?"

Just because the two of them had got off on the wrong foot in the beginning didn't mean she failed to appreciate what a handsome man he was... especially when his face lit up with a dazzling smile like the one he was bestowing on her now. In fact, she couldn't even recall why it was they had taken against each other in the first place.

"Let me get some coffee and I'll be right back out to visit... if I won't be too much of a bother..." She pointed to whatever it was he was making that involved some intricate braiding of six strips of doeskin. "Oh wow! Can you teach me how to do that?"

"Why sure... it ain't that hard."

"Can I get you a refill?" She indicated his empty mug on the side table.

"Sure."

Having heard the wagon drive up, Jonesy had already anticipated Sally's coffee quest and had it ready. She took the cup from his hands and bussed him on the cheek.

"You're a treasure, Jonesy. I'm thinking I'd better marry you right quick before some other girl snaps you up!"

The old man's cheeks colored. "Awwwwww... you're just sayin' that. What would you do with an old codger like me, anyway?" he flustered.

"Same thing I'd do with a young one... but age and experience trump youth and good looks when it comes to canoodling."

Jonesy's face flamed. Lowering his voice, "If you and Slim ever..."

Sally made a face. "Now Jonesy... you know good and well that's never going to happen. When Matt finally gets around to settling down, it'll be with some sweet-tempered apple-dumpling kinda girl who'll have eyes only for him and give him lots of fat bouncing babies. I'm more like Mexican chili... spice is nice every now and then but a man doesn't want it every day... unless maybe he's Jess Harper. Which reminds me... he'd like a refill..."

Jonesy chortled at the analogy as he filled the tin mug and turned toward the work counter to add sugar and creamer... but something in the woman's words stirred a gossamer thread of alarm in a dim recess of his mind, a faint forewarning of unpleasantness to come.

"Jonesy? You all right?" Sally's voice snapped him back to attention. He looked down to see his trembling hand had slopped coffee onto the countertop.

"Just old and shaky, girl," he murmured.

 **From his post in the kitchen,** Jonesy couldn't get a visual on the porch or catch enough conversation through the open window to follow what was being said... but he heard the rocker being dragged across creaking floorboards to the other end where Jess had parked his wheelchair. So Sally was intending to set a spell and visit with him, not just serve the coffee and go on out to the forge? This was a new development. Other than when she was filling in as duty nurse, Sally Lowenstein had never gone out of her way to have a proper sit-down conversation with Jess Harper. They didn't even _like_ each other. Or didn't used to...

He couldn't stand it—the unintelligible mumble of voices punctuated by laughter and even more ominous silences, the not knowing what they were up to. In his felt house slippers, Jonesy did the stealth shuffle around the corner and through the parlor to just short of the open front door. He oozed one eye around the frame far enough to ascertain that Sally was sitting as close to Jess as she could possibly get. Two dark heads together—close enough to kiss! Looked like they were playing cat's cradle with some of the leather thongs. What the heck was going on here?

Jonesy's thoughts took a giant step backward to his earlier exchange with Kim... about his belief Sally was in the process of discarding Slim in favor of someone else.

 _Is it Jess she's after... or has she already got 'im? Or did Jess suddenly decide he wanted her? Either way, it's gonna bust up this family in more ways than one. When it's some new gal they've both met at the same time, that's one thing. This here's different. Slim could understand some outsider beatin' his game with Sally... but Jess? He'd never forgive a betrayal like that..._

Unable to tear himself away, Jonesy seated himself on the fainting couch just near the door where he could hear clearly as long as they weren't whispering...

" **Carrie sends her regards, by the way,"** Sally was saying casually.

"Carrie? Carrie Compton? How do you know...?" Jess choked, remembering Sally's Aunt Emmaline ran a high-class bordello in town, although the girl in question didn't work there. "I... uh... didn't I hear tell Irish Lily's closed down? Who's she workin' for now?"

"You'll like this... Miss Lizzie McAvoy was one of the older folks who didn't survive the plague. She didn't have any kin so when her dress shop went on the auction block, Aunt Em bought it and set Carrie up to run it. She'd heard about what an accomplished dressmaker Carrie is and wanted to give her a hand up. Carrie's buying the shop from her on time."

"That was real kind of her, to do that," Jess said quietly. "Carrie's a nice girl. Good-hearted. Weren't her fault her folks died an' she hadda... well, you know."

"You don't look all that happy for her, Jess," Sally observed.

"Oh... I am. I am. It's just that... I guess that means we won't... I mean, I won't get to see her no more." Jess ducked his face to hide the blush, even knowing Sally wasn't the kind of woman to take offense at the mention of prostitution. When he finally looked up it was to find her studying him with amused speculation. Jess broke first.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he finally came up with. _Shit! That was dumb._

After a few more seconds, she answered. "I'm thinking two months in a cast must be an eternity for a man like you."

"What do you mean, _'like me'?"_

"Someone who's used to getting his ashes hauled on a regular basis."

Hidden around the doorframe, Jonesy nearly fell off his perch. Jess choked and dropped his end of the cords they'd been plaiting. "SALLY!"

"Oh please! Would you rather I employ some prissy euphemism such as 'attending to his manly needs'? Men come into town to drink and get laid. That's what men do around here... even the married ones."

"Where'd you learn to talk like that?"

Sally rolled her eyes and made a face. "My work days're spent in the company of men... they stand around gossiping like old biddies while I shoe their horses. They don't bother minding their language... or their topics... 'cause most of 'em don't even see me as a woman!"

"Are they blind or what?"

"I'm in brogans and greasy overalls, with my hair tucked up under my hat... filthy and smelling like horse manure... pretty much like when you first met me, and as you've seen me since then. You probably had no idea I even owned a pair of tits until you saw me in my underwear that one morning..."

Jess couldn't refute that statement... didn't even try. Spread his hands in surrender. "You're right. About everything. I was blind as a bat an' I apologize. I certainly know better now. No doubt in my mind you're _all woman_. I ain't likely to forget it."

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment. Shall I tell Carrie you said hello, next time I see her?"

"Sure. She probably won't care none, though... bein' outta the game an' all..."

"Carrie has high regard for you as a friend, Jess, and a sincere concern for your health. She asked me to convey to you an invitation to luncheon at your earliest convenience. You were always more than just a john."

"Where does she... where could we go where women... ladies... wouldn't turn their noses up at her?"

"Miss Compton is a respectable young business woman now that the 'ladies' have discovered what a marvelous dress designer she is. I'm even having her make some for me."

"You... in a dress?"

"Watch it, bub."

"Sorry. Sorry. Just kiddin'. I'll bet you look like a queen in a dress."

They both laughed.

"Don't get carried away. Speaking of which, I'd better carry myself to the forge and get busy." Sally stood up and stretched, looking down at Jess' upturned face. Impulsively she cupped the palm of her hand to his cheek.

"Everything will be all right, Jess. You'll see... I've got an idea." With that she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

 **In the meantime...** The eavesdropper in the parlor—Jonesy—had been coming to a couple of appalling realizations... Although apparently nothing had _yet_ happened, a man and a woman didn't have such frank exchanges about sexual matters unless they _were_ thinking about it. And thinking led to _wanting_ , and wanting led to _doing_. Clearly, Jonesy had no recourse but to intervene in some manner. But how?

Unbeknownst to Jonesy, the party of the first part on the porch—Sally—had already started formulating a plan, after having discarded the notion of simply loading the party of the second part—Jess—onto the spring wagon and hauling him to town... because, what then? Every whorehouse in Laramie was a two-story structure—negotiations downstairs, services rendered upstairs. Trundling him up and down staircases was out of the question. A ground floor room in one of the Whatleigh's private residences wasn't an option. The Jackson family occupied the entire downstairs portion of her own house, and small children lived there as well as in her brother's house next door. The six Dominican Sisters of the Divine Illumination were still boarding at Aunt Em's until construction was completed on their new residence.

That left one other idea—one that would have Slim crapping bricks if he ever found out. It would require strategic cunning and choreographic artistry. The most difficult part would be getting Slim, Andy and Jonesy away from the ranch for an entire day... or longer. It would be necessary to enlist Jonesy's cooperation. Bill and Opie weren't a problem—they adored her and would do anything she asked, up to and including turning blind eyes and lying like bandits.

As for Kimball Kahále... well, they had unfinished business _. Where is that little peckerhead, anyway?_


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_ _ **—**_ **TIMING IS EVERYTHING**

" _ **Right time, right place, right people equals success. Wrong time, wrong**_

 _ **place, wrong people equals most of the real human history."**_ _(Idries Shah)_

 **Timing is everything...** Too soon or too late muddles the affairs of men and directs the course of history. Anything that happens exactly on time rarely disrupts anything else.

Slim and Andy had returned from their sojourn by following a game trail that veered near the pasture behind the barn where Deecy the milk cow lived. They dismounted near the orphan calves' pen and led their mounts through the side yard between the house and outbuildings. Opie came forward from his post near the forge and offered to take care of their horses as he had nothing to do other than mind the fire until Miss Sally came to take over. Andy lingered to check his caged pets but Slim strode toward the house, intent on getting on the outside of some hot coffee. He'd been looking down, trying to avoid stepping in chicken droppings but looked up when he heard Jess and Sally's commingled laughter. As his boot hit the first riser he saw Sally bending over Jess, her hand on his face... followed by her lips. They didn't see him.

 **A commotion along the pasture fence** adjoining the stage road deflected everyone's attention at a critical moment. Picking up on an approaching vehicle long before it became audible to the humans, the horses had trotted up to the fence line, lining up with heads and pricking ears forward. Much whickering and snorting accompanied their interest, which in turn captured their human counterparts as a four-up mule-drawn stake-sided freight wagon hove into view. The skinner and a passenger occupied the driver's seat. The sole occupant of the cargo compartment was a magnificent Hereford bull. Instead of staying on the road proper, the wagon turned into the staging area where the coach usually stopped.

Slim's foot left the step and he stalked over to the wagon. "You can't park that thing here! Move it. There's a stage due in thirty minutes."

The passenger, a nattily dressed little man wearing a bowler, clambered down from the high seat and peered up at the imposingly tall man. "Know where I can find a Mister Matthew Sherman, Junior?" He spoke sniffily in a high, nasal voice.

"You found him."

"Excellent! If you'd be so good as to inspect your shipment and sign this receipt, we can offload him at once and be out of your way!"

"Shipment? What shipment?" Slim scowled.

"Why, yonder beast, of course. I can assure you he is in prime condition. You'll not find a hair out of place. I've personally accompanied this prize specimen on the train from Cheyenne, sir, and I must say he is..."

"Whoa! Wait a minute!" Slim spoke a little louder than intended and the little man flinched but stood his ground as he flourished a manila document folio.

"Here're all his papers—pedigree, notarized bill of sale, certificate of ownership, shipping manifests... if you would just sign..."

"There must be some mistake. I didn't order this animal. I certainly didn't buy it. You just hop back on that wagon and turn around and take it back to wherever it came from."

"But sir, I can't do that," the little man protested. "I am not authorized to do anything but deliver Percy in good order and this I have done."

Slim glanced up at the driver, a man he knew. "Bruiser... turn this wagon around and take this little twerp with you."

"Cain't do 'er, Cap'n," the huge cauliflower-eared former boxer replied mournfully after expectorating an enormous wad of tobacco off the side. "Paid to bring 'er out here, not haul 'er back. Ain't no place to store 'er at the warehouse, neither. Might as well unload 'er an' do what'er ya want."

Slim closed his eyes and counted to five. "Let me see that bill of sale."

The little nebbish, who offered the name of Kirkland, handed over the official document along with an impressively gold-leaf-bordered certificate proclaiming one Matthew Sherman as the owner of a purebred Hereford bull named 'Sir Percivale Goodknight', calved 30 October 1868 at the Canby Cattle Company breeding facility outside Cheyenne, Wyoming. Slim read the sales receipt twice, whistling at the price the first time and turning to stare at his new and unanticipated acquisition. One didn't often see a five-hundred-dollar bull.

"This receipt is worthless, Kirkland. I didn't sign it."

"I beg to differ, sir. It's duly notarized and everything... _'Sold, to Mister Matthew Sherman of Sherman Ranch, Albany County, Wyoming Territory...'_ "

"I didn't sign the damned thing. That's not my signature. It wasn't my money!"

"Of course it isn't, sir. It was signed by your authorized representative, Mister John Smith. He presented a draft on your account at Stockmens Bank of Cheyenne. I was with Mister Canby when he cashed it."

Slim's voice'd got louder and louder. By now he had everyone's attention. Jess and Sally and Jonesy on the porch. Andy in the side yard with his mouth agape. Mild Bill and Opie over by the corral where they'd just finished harnessing the replacement team for the morning run.

"I don't know any John Smith," Slim shouted. "I don't have an account at Stockmens. And I didn't buy a goddam bull!"

"Sir, there is no need for profanity."

The only one totally unconcerned with Slim's rant was Bruiser, who in the meantime had removed his considerable self from the driver's seat and walked around to lower the tailgate on the wagon. Then he effortlessly dragged out and positioned a long solid ramp constructed of three two-by-twelves bolted together side by side.

"You gonna bring 'er down, Cap'n?"

"It's a him, not a her..." Slim raged, "...and you're not..." At that moment he was overtaken by a coughing fit so fierce he could barely catch his breath. As he stood there doubled over, turning blue with his hands on his knees, Sally appeared at his side and gestured to Andy.

"Get your brother inside and look after him. Jonesy knows what to do. I'll take over here. You... give me that delivery ticket. I'll sign."

Though Kirkland was visibly trembling, he meekly handed it over and tried to stand still so she could sign it against his back.

"Are you... uh... Missus Sherman?"

"Who do you think I am? Queen Victoria? Better get aboard." _Just a little white lie._

 **Percy the bull wasn't entirely convinced** he wanted come down that gangplank but even his great bulk was no match for Bruiser and the lady blacksmith. Once on the ground he was as placid as an old dairy cow. Not Deecy, of course—the most aggravating milk cow in history—but a normal cow without anger issues.

"Sure you can handle 'er, Miss Sally?" The skinner asked doubtfully.

Sally gave a gentle experimental tug on the lanyard attached to the bull's nose ring and he took a docile step forward. Mild Bill and Opie had approached as close as they dared to admire the animal.

Kirkland called down from the wagon's seat. "He was hand-raised from the time he was born, m'am. Unless you got any cows in season around here, you can lead him like a puppy on a leash."

Sally looked to the old men. "How about it, boys... we got any girls around here spoiling for a good time?"

"No'm," Opie squeaked, red-faced. "Just that ole Jersey an' she's already bred."

"How about putting him in the barn for me. The foaling box would be best, so he's got room to turn and lie down. Don't tie him. Make sure he has plenty of hay and water. Oh... and put down some extra straw."

"Yes, Miss Sally." The two looked a little nervous at first but Sir Percivale trudged along peaceably. The freight wagon left and Sally detoured to the house to drop off the folder.

Jess'd returned to his leatherwork after enjoying the spectacle of Slim blowing his top... but... _hate to see 'im coughin' like that. What if it ain't just the leftovers from that bronco-itis like Doc says? What if it's somethin' worse... somethin' that could cut 'im down by the end a the week like I seen in prison camp? Or the consumption? He could linger for months, gettin' weaker an' weaker 'til he just shrivels up an' dies? Who'd take care a the ranch for Andy an' Jonesy? I can't leave 'til I know for sure he's gonna be all right..._

" **Jess? JESS!"**

Jess was wrenched back to reality by Sally smacking the side of his head with a sheaf of paper.

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself. I need you to make a halter for that bull... can you do that?"

"I reckon I could but..."

"Today? Nothing fancy..."

"Yes, today... if Jonesy or Andy'll get me some o-rings an' d-rings an' harness leather scraps... they know where everythin' is..."

"Okay, thanks. I'll get you some measurements." She vanished through the front door.

Slim was sitting at the kitchen with a towel over his head, inhaling vapors from a bowl full of boiling water and medicinal oils. Sally narrowed her eyes at the wheezing and looked to Jonesy.

"He okay?"

"Will be. Done warned him fifty times about gettin' all excitable. Are they gone?"

"Yes."

"What about the bull?"

"In the barn."

"As if we don't have enough aggravation in this house!"

A muffled expletive leaked out from under the towel.

"Stage comin' in!" Jess yelled from the front porch.

Slim groaned and made to pull off the towel. Sally whipped around.

"Don't even think about it, Slim Sherman. You stay right there 'til you can breathe clear. Andy... you keep an eye on him!"

Something else escaped the vapor tent. Could've been 'Yes, m'am' but probably was something impolite. Sally ignored it.

"Jonesy... walk out to the barn with me, please."

Jess looked after them as Sally steamed out the front door with Jonesy caught up in her wake turbulence. _What a woman!_

" **Andy coulda done this.** No need to drag me all the way out here when I got passengers to take care of," Jonesy grumbled, rummaging through a box of brasses and hardware. Sally was delving into a larger box of discarded leathers used for patching up old harness. Mild Bill and Opie were engaged in switching out teams while the two stage passengers and Mose the driver had gone on into the house for coffee and pie.

"Andy can handle the passengers. I wanted to talk with you in private... about Jess."

Jonesy got very, very still. He had no idea what was coming but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it. "What about 'im?"

"We need to get Matt away from here for a couple of days. Actually, him and you _and_ Andy."

"Oh?" _So you can have Jess all to yourself, you brazen hussy? Is that it?_ Her next words took him by surprise...

"It's only a matter of time before open warfare breaks out between the two of them. They've been cooped up here together too long. They need to be separated for a while... and they need some... diversion. You see what I'm saying, Jonesy?"

"Er... not really..."

"Think about it, man... Jess hasn't been to town in two months. Eight weeks. That's eight Saturdays he... Has. Not. Been. To. Town. Get it? Come on... you're not _that_ old!"

Jonesy got it. "Oh... OH! But... he _still_ can't go to town..."

"Right. And he still won't be able to go even after the cast comes off. Not right away. But town can come to him. Not all of it, naturally... just one. I'll drive her out here myself."

"Slim would never..."

"Jonesy, for Pete's sake pay attention. That's the point. We have to get him away. Far away. Cheyenne would be good. He could use some diversion, too, and we know he won't risk getting it in Laramie. We have good reason now... he's all in a swivet about that bull. If he wants that sorted out he'll have to see that Canby fellow and the bank manager at Stockmens. And while he's there he can swing by O'Hanlan and Sullivan's social club. They'll fix him up proper."

"You know about them?" Jonesy asked faintly.

"Of course. They're friendly competitors of Aunt Em's. Now, you and Andy'll spend a couple of days in Laramie... he needs new clothes and you can get a head start on your Christmas shopping. You can stay at my place..."

"Um... where will you be staying?"

"Here, of course. Someone has to stick around to cook and keep the other three men away from the house while... you know... while things are going on IN the house..."

Jonesy was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "This just might work... for everyone..."

"Of course it will. We'll bring it up at supper and finagle it around so that Slim thinks he thought of it himself."

"You're staying to supper?"

"No. I'll do however many horses I can get to today and then I want to start back before dark. Here, take this bucket of stuff to Jess and think of what you're going to have for supper that'll put Matt in a good mood. Or at least a better one. If you can talk him into going Monday morning, get word to me by Mose."

"Tomorrow's Sunday... stage don't run on Sunday," Jonesy pointed out.

"It will tomorrow, to accommodate holiday travelers... heard it from Mort Corey."

"Oh... that's right... Thanksgiving's this week... dang near forgot about that!"

They walked out the barn door and Sally turned left to the forge. In a much sunnier frame of mind, Jonesy toted the bucket to the porch.

 _Unless this is some elaborate setup on Sally's part to deliberately misguide me, I've been mistaken about her intentions. It isn't Jess she's after. What I'm_ not _wrong about is her and Slim. Whatever their relationship was, it's over. No female ever willingly shares her man with another woman—especially not one for hire—unless she's done with him. Or she's Mormon._


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11_ _ **—**_ **WHEN WOMEN CONSPIRE**

" _ **... their cunning is fourfold... their perseverance sixfold...**_

 _ **and their passions eightfold."**_ _(Sanskrit proverb about women)_

 **Monday, November 21st...** "All aboard!"

Sally gave Slim a brief hug before he stepped on board the eastbound 8:15—not so brief that he couldn't whisper in her ear. "Wish you were going with me..."

"Good luck, Matt. Say hello to John and Harley from me and Auntie Em."

Slim did a double-take and gave her a wry grin. Then he was up the steps and swallowed by the passenger compartment just as the wheels started to turn.

"Now then," Sally said, turning to her companions. "Martha's got a bedroom fixed up for you, Jonesy. Andy... Jacob's so excited about having a sleepover that he actually cleaned up his room without me having to threaten him."

Slim, Jonesy and Andy'd got up at dark o'clock in order to make the two-hour drive from the ranch and still have time to meet Sally for breakfast at the Camas Lily Café. Plans'd been discussed and instructions issued. Jonesy was going back to Sally's house to catch up on his interrupted sleep for a few hours. Andy'd slept in the back of the spring wagon and was planning to hang out with Avery Jackson at Lowenstein's Livery until Jacob got out of school, after which the two boys would meet up with Jonesy and go clothes shopping for Andy.

Sally already had her overnight valise packed, ready to stow on the wagon after she dropped off Jonesy at her house. So doing, she drove around to the alley behind the strip of buildings that included Carolina Compton's dressmaking establishment. The woman herself was just locking the back door, her bag already on the stoop. For the purpose of getting out of town incognito, Carrie'd disguised herself as a boy. Sitting up on the bench seat next to Sally in her overalls, she was quite convincing, too.

Without makeup and the fancy accoutrements of her former occupation, Carrie was a rather ordinary-looking girl... petite, with blue-grey eyes. She was letting her brassy gold-dyed hair grow back out to its natural dark honey blonde.

Once they were far enough away from the growing urban sprawl that was Laramie, Sally pulled up. They'd been trading light conversation up until then. And now Sally was serious.

"You can still change your mind, Carrie. Frankly, I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, now that you're respectable and all."

"Are you kidding? I can't wait to see Jess... be with him. And all night, too! We were never able to do that before. Lily charged a lot for overnighters and he never had enough money."

"It must be a great relief to be off the game," Sally commented, urging the team to walk on.

"It is. But it was either that or starve, and I like my food too much, as you can tell." Carrie patted her hips. "Sure hope a few extra pounds don't put him off."

Sally snickered. "Oh... I sincerely doubt it."

 **The twelve miles were rolling by swiftly** and it was closing in on lunchtime.

"You've never been out here before, have you?" Sally asked. Carrie was craning her head this way and that, delighted by the scenery.

"No. Never. I've only been in Laramie a year and I haven't been outside town once during that time. I heard there's bad men and Indians and bears out here. Is it true?"

Sally laughed. "True enough... but I haven't seen any."

"Did you leave Jess out here all alone?"

"No, there're three other people. One of them will be looking after him until we get there."

"I also heard there's some sort of Oriental outlaw staying out there..."

"I would hardly categorise Kim as an outlaw but it's true he has a drop or two of Chinese blood... not that you can really tell. You'll be meeting him shortly." Sally went to explain about how Kim came to be there and his function as tutor to Andy."

"Sounds interesting," Carrie said. "And the other men? Are they ranch hands like Jess?"

"Bill and Opie are temporaries... oldtimers from the Whatleigh ranch. You might recognize them although I doubt either one's been in a cathouse in the last decade."

"Do they all live in the house? I mean... will they be in the house while we... while Jess and I are... visiting?"

"Um... no. Those two live in an old gypsy wagon away from the house. They understand that after lunch today they're not to come inside unless there's a fire or some emergency."

"What about the other one?"

"He won't be a bother. I'll see to that."

"Can I ask you something straight out, woman to woman? Not to be nosey or anything, but..."

"Depends on the question."

"Have you ever slept with Jess... or Slim? There's been rumors, you know... all those times you were staying out there...? "

"I'm sure there have been... and the answer is no and yes."

"Pardon?"

"I'll tell you... but you have to swear you never heard it from me."

"I swear! Cross my heart and hope to die!"

"Slim and I've been... well... we were a couple, sort of. But not anymore. It's complicated. Some people already knew... like all the girls at the Prairie Rose..."

"Madam Aline's place?"

"Yeah... Madam Aline is also my Aunt Emmaline."

"Oh... I never knew that. So you and Jess haven't ever...?"

"No. For a long time we didn't get along. I thought he was an arrogant prick. He thought I was an oversized bitch. We've got past that, though. We're good. But I'm not his type."

"Oh... and I am?" Just the tiniest bit of defensiveness there.

"Let me ask you a question... when he first turned up in town, did he pick you or did you get him by luck of the draw?"

"He asked for me specifically after he'd looked around a bit. I remember that because everybody wanted him and they were pushing and shoving to get up front where he could see them first."

"And ever since, has he gone with any other girl at Irish Lily's?"

"No. Not that I know of. Whenever I'm not... wasn't... available, he always waited."

"That goes to prove three things, Carrie. He's discriminating, he's loyal... and you're definitely his type. Why do you think I came to you first instead of asking one of Aunt Em's girls? And why I'm so glad you understood why this is so important?"

"I did wonder."

"This isn't just a mercy fu... mission. It's more than just a quick poke. He needs the physical intimacy. He needs to be cherished and made to feel he's important to somebody. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes... but Sally... you _do_ understand I'm not in the market for a husband, right? And I won't accept money for this. I really will enjoy his company, even if all we do is talk."

"Just be with him, Carrie. Make him happy for a little while."

"I'll do my best."

"You know... that's what wrong with our society. People aren't allowed to find joy without guilt in doing what nature designed us to do. These days everything has to have a contract attached to it. Oh look... here we are!"

 **Jess was again deployed** on the front porch although the warm spell had depleted itself and the temperature was dropping rapidly. He'd just called to Kim to come and help him get back inside when the spring wagon appeared up the road. He was aware of the plan—Slim going off to Cheyenne, Jonesy and Andy spending a night or two in town, and Sally coming to play housemother—but completely uninformed as to the hidden agenda. In general he thought it was a very good idea. Hopefully Slim would get his problems ironed out and return in a better mood. Jonesy needed a break and Andy needed new clothes that fit—right now his wrists and ankles poked out of everything and he complained his boots were too tight.

As for Sally's being there overnight with just him and Kim, he had to admit to some trepidation on his part having to do with certain involuntary biological functions... ever since that discussion they'd had he couldn't _help_ but think of her as a woman... every time he saw her and occasionally when he just _thought_ of her. That could lead to some potentially embarrassing moments.

 _Who's that boy sitting next to her?_

Kim came outside. "You call me?"

"Yeah. Time to go in, I think. Sally's back."

 _Boy's sure been moody these last two days after gettin' back from that ride. All sad-faced an' down in the mouth like somebody shot his pet hog. Claims it's on account a that pony a his that he's gonna have to leave behind whenever he gets around to goin'. Says it's near old as him an' they been through a lot together. Don't know whether to b'lieve him or not but he's sure got the miseries over somethin'!_

 **Driving the wagon** right up to the porch, Sally got out and pulled her valise out from behind the seat. The boy, whose face wasn't visible under a slouch hat, clambered down from the other side and retrieved a Gladstone bag. Sally came up the steps first with a smirky, self-satisfied expression on her face. Right behind her the 'boy' lifted his head with an ear-to-ear grin.

Jess jaw fell open. "Carrie... Carrie Compton... where... what... how...?" He tried to stand up before remembering he couldn't and fell heavily back into the chair. Removing her hat, the girl took two giant steps and was in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. He was hugging back without reservation, his face buried in her shoulder.

Sally picked up Carrie's bag and nudged Kim back into the parlor. "Let's give 'em some space... they'll come in when they get too cold."

Kim'd been in the process of getting a fire started when Jess'd called. Without comment, he dropped to one knee and resumed feeding slivers of fat lighter to the twigs already on the grate. Sally stood close to the fireplace, holding her hands out to the nascent flames. "It's getting cold again. Everything quiet here?"

"Yeah. Slim get off all right?"

"Right on time. Lunch about ready?"

"Stew's on the stove. Cornbread's in the warming oven."

"Oh good. I'll go put up the horses and collect the boys on the way in."

"What about Jess and his... guest...?"

How to explain the plan while avoiding crudity? Were a foreigner's moral standards more relaxed and forgiving than the average Laramie citizen? This would be a prime litmus test...

"They met through her former employment and have become very fond of each other. Since the last time they met—before the accident—she's moved on from that line of work. It's not been easy for her, escaping the taint... but she's a talented dressmaker and the women hereabouts are quick to overlook inconvenient histories when it benefits them. Kind of like with me... I'm not socially welcome in too many homes... but I'm a damned good artisan metalworker and very useful when someone needs a fancy bit of ironwork."

"She looks nice."

"She _is_ nice. What she _used_ to do has nothing to do with who she is."

When Kim didn't reply, Sally hunkered down next to him as he laddered small logs into the fireplace.

"What's the matter, Kim?"

"Nothing. Nothing's the matter."

"Liar. Can we talk later?"

"Sure."

"I'll be back soon's I'm done."

"Done with what?"

"Going to try to finish up the horses I didn't get to on Saturday."

 **The front porch had been vacated** by the time Sally returned to the house with Mild Bill and Opie in tow, all three leaning into a rising wind with a sharp edge to it. The parlor was warm and inviting, the dining table already set for six with Jess parked in his usual place. Incongruously clad in a smaller version of Sally's customary attire, Carrie was assisting Kim in the kitchen.

Sally and the two oldsters trooped down the hallway to the washroom. On their return, Kim had the stew on the table along with the cornbread, a crock of butter and a pot of coffee.

"You make this?" Sally queried, slathering butter on a hunk of cornbread.

"No," Kim grunted. "Jonesy cooked it yesterday. I did learn how to start a fire and boil water in engineering school, though."

As everyone tucked in, Sally deliberately steered conversation in conventional directions. Weather was always a safe topic.

"So you're predicting a freeze tonight, Bill?"

"Thought it was gonna, but she's feelin' more like snow now." The old cowboy nodded his head knowingly.

Sally frowned. She hadn't factored snow into her machinations although she'd duly noted the dark gray cloudbank advancing from the southwest. "You sure about that?"

"My arthuritis don't lie, Miss Sally."

"Well crap! A lot or a little?"

"Don't rightly know, m'am. But I'm thinkin' we'd best get the stock under shelter soon's we're done with the stage."

"I'll come out and help. Maybe you'd better bed down in here tonight after supper."

The two old men looked at each other and blinked. "Oh no, m'am. We'll do just fine out in that campwagon," Opie declared. "Got us plenty a farwood an' a checkerboard an' a jug or two."

"Got us a couple a rabbits this mornin'... gonna fry 'em up for our supper," Bill added. "Don't you fret none about us!"

 **The two women exchanged conspiratorial glances** as the meal progressed. So far the mission was unfolding just as Sally had outlined it in her initial proposal to Carrie Compton and refined it on the trip from town. Seated directly across from Jess at the head of the table, it was all Sally could do to not give away the show whenever she looked up to observe those quirky eyebrows drawn together in speculation, gears whizzing behind those incredibly blue eyes.

Jess was not a stupid man. By now he had to've figured out that Carrie wasn't here for an afternoon tea party. Women didn't go for a ride in the country with a valise suitable for an overnight stay someplace. And there wasn't anybody to drive her back to town. He almost certainly had to be wondering where Carrie was going to sleep tonight... and pondering the possibilities... and worrying about how he might manage with that wretched cast on his leg.

Sally smiled to herself. _Where there's a will there's a way, Jess Harper. Nature will prevail... with Carrie's experience and a little ingenuity._

While Carrie appeared to be engrossed with Jess, at the same time she was darting questioning—almost fearful—glances at Kim. Something about him was making the younger woman nervous. Come to think of it, Sally pondered, he _was_ looking oddly unsettled lately—and more his chronological age—but she couldn't quite put a finger on the reason. Kim contributed little to the conversation and his face gave no clue as to what he might be thinking. But then it rarely did. Whenever he did raise his head, his irises gleamed a feral amber in the glow of the overhead lantern.

 _You're so thin you could dodge raindrops. We'll have to do something about that. I like my men with a little more meat on 'em! You may think I've given up or lost interest... but I've just been biding my time. There's always the chance you might back away... but I'm betting you won't. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice. Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly..._

 **In the last mile on the road,** Sally had finally confessed to Carrie her irrational obsession with the Sherman's houseguest... and her intentions.

"This is the only opportunity we'll have..."

"He must be really something for you to give up Slim Sherman!" Carrie marveled.

"It's stupid. It's absurd. I know that. I can't begin to explain it. He's a married man... and not even an American. On the run... with a price on his head. It's crazy... but I'm thinking that if we could be together... just once... maybe I'd get him out of my system!"

"But Sally..." the other woman counseled, "... what if you don't? You'd risk throwing away your relationship with Slim for no good reason?"

"I know."

"There's nothing in it for you. Sooner or later he'll be found out, maybe gunned down or sent to prison. I'm the last one to be giving out advice to the lovelorn but, good grief!... where's your common sense?!"

"That's exactly what Aunt Emmaline said weeks ago. I've tried to put him out of my head but he just won't go..."

They'd gone on to discuss, frankly, the logistics of two couples intent on getting on with intimate activities under the same roof... in a small house with a thin, uninsulated interior wall between adjacent bedrooms. Here Carrie had the advantage of having learned to concentrate on the business at hand and simply ignore noises generated in the rooms next door. Sally and Slim—and her previous lovers—had enjoyed more subdued surroundings where noise wasn't an issue as the superior structural integrity of the high class hotel in Cheyenne precluded noise pollution.

 **With the meal over,** the two old men back outside and the table cleared, Kim excused himself and left the room. Sally took the initiative.

"Okay kids... there's no delicate way to say this so I'll be blunt. Jess... you're in dire need of cheering up and Carrie volunteered. Let's be clear on this: she's _not_ here on business. She's here because she _wants_ to be, for the pleasure of your company. Our window of opportunity is limited so I encourage you to make the most of it. Even though there's only the four of us, privacy will be awkward. Deal with it. If you need mobility assistance beyond what Carrie's able to provide, send her out to get one of us. Otherwise, we're going to pretend you're not in the back bedroom. Any questions?"

The first flush of embarrassment had risen and subsided in Jess' face as full comprehension sunk in. His eyes were practically glowing with the electric blue of St. Elmo's fire.

"We? You and...?"

"Not your business. Right now I'm going outside to help the boys. The stage'll be along pretty soon and we need to prepare for snow, if any. Kim'll be back in a few minutes if you need anything."

Sally doubted that either one even heard her last few words. The desire on both their faces was self-evident and Jess was already backing the chair away from the table.

 _That went well! So far, so good._


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12_ _ **—**_ **SUBLIME DIVERSIONS**

" _ **With persuasive words she led him astray;**_

 _ **she seduced him with her smooth talk."**_ _(Proverbs 7:21 NIV)_

 **No sooner had the door closed behind them** than Jess' initial enthusiasm wavered in the stark realization that he was facing a rather daunting impediment to progress in the usual and customary manner. The desire was there all right, but the logistics of how to go about satisfying it were problematic. How could he manage with a leg that didn't bend?! Not only that... it occurred to him that they'd never before had the leisure to engage in extended foreplay. Jess wasn't even sure he knew how.

Time was money at Irish Lily's and profit depended on cycling customers through as quickly as possible. Indeed, the only protracted conversations he and Carrie'd ever had occurred outside of business hours... in public and fully clothed. Jess could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he'd spent an entire night with a woman in joyous unfettered congress. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming need to talk first... just talk.

"Carrie... could we...?"

"Hold on a minute... I'm thinking."

The girl was surveying the surroundings and the pair of single beds with less than approval. This wouldn't do. She gave the nearest one a hearty shove and it scooted a few inches.

"What're you doin'?"

"Can't play without a playground," Carrie grunted, dragging the nightstand from between the beds before pushing them together. A thin woolen blanket rolled into a tube and stuffed in the gap served to level the playing field. That done, she sat on the improved platform to unlace her boots and kick them off. Before Jess could gather his wits the overalls dropped to the floor, followed by the chambray shirt, and Carrie was standing before him, oddly charming in her chemise and knickers. "Now then... you were about to say...?"

 **Jess cleared his throat.** "Could we... um... talk first?"

"How about we talk in the meantime?" Carrie was investigating the row of ties holding the right leg of his denims together. "Well, isn't this clever?!" She started untying them from the ankle up.

"You knew about this, right?" He indicated the plaster.

"Way before Sally came to talk to me. I've had plenty of time to think of ways of getting around it. Do you need help moving to the bed?"

"No... I can manage." Of course, when he heaved himself out of the chair and over to the edge of the bed, his pants fell down, exposing the cutdown longjohn bottoms with _their_ ties. Carrie giggled and reached for them. His big hand clamped down on hers.

"No... wait... please... I gotta know... I heard you quit the business, so why're you doin' this?"

"Let's get you comfortable first and _then_ we'll talk... if that's what you _really_ want..."

It was quite obvious that Jess' body wasn't honoring his verbal request as Carrie helped him lie back, layering pillows to elevate his head and shoulders and support the casted leg. Ignoring the contradictory evidence, she sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, close enough to hold his hand as she considered how to explain 'why'.

 **Because of their broader experiences** with men in general, most working girls acquired a wider knowledge of human nature than their one-man counterparts in polite society would ever achieve. It wasn't just about the sex... it was about the basic human craving for intimacy that went beyond physical acts. On many occasions in the past it'd happened—perhaps due to impotency—that a man who'd purchased Carrie's favors wanted nothing more than his hour's worth of cuddling and conversation with an attractive, soft-spoken female. The first time this'd occurred, a much younger Carrie had confided her confusion to an older coworker.

"Was it me? Did I do something wrong?" she'd queried tearfully.

"No honey, you didn't. It ain't their fault, neither," the other woman had consoled. "Sometimes it just happens an' when it does you don't make a big deal of it. You hear 'im out. You play along as if it's the most natural thing in the world, poke or no poke, so that when he leaves he don't feel he's any less of a man. Unnerstand?"

This hadn't ever happened with Jess... but there was a first time for everything. Looking at him now, knowing he was ready, Carrie was reasonably confident this wasn't that time.

"Why're you here, Carrie?" Jess repeated softly.

With no more formal schooling than his, Carrie endeavored to articulate as clearly as her vocabulary permitted just exactly why she'd agreed to come to him...

 **For the first time ever** Carolina Compton was in a position to make love according to _her_ rules, _her_ timetable... to not be rushed, to take as long as she pleased to please her lover, to experiment. Making love as a free agent was a radical departure from providing a service... and she meant to wring every last iota of pleasure from the experience... for both of them.

Jess had never been demanding with her and was far and away the most enjoyable partner she'd ever had. But... she'd never been with him more than an hour at a time. How would he behave with unlimited access? True... right now she would probably be able to fend him off if he turned rough, although she couldn't imagine that happening.

The other thing was that Carrie'd been hooking since she was fifteen and had no idea how a _real lady_ acted in the boudoir. Jess had always treated her as she envisioned a _real lady_ would be treated... with gentleness and tenderness and, most of all, respect. She assumed Jess had enjoyed his share of quality time with _real ladies_ and was therefore in a position to provide guidance. Would he be her teacher?

Thirdly, Carrie missed him. Him personally. She wanted to be here. She would have come sooner but she was leery of intruding... and of Slim's strait-laced outlook on 'appearances'. If she had her way, this wouldn't be the _only_ encounter. When that cast came off, she hoped Jess would be a frequent visitor to her small _private_ apartment above the shop. And no, she still wasn't looking to get married. She loved him in her way, true... but she was reinventing her life in other directions.

 **Jess'd listened in astonishment** to this veritable deluge of honesty. No woman had ever been this upfront with him... or trusting of his reaction. Sense of urgency still intact, he needed her more than ever... needed this affirmation of his self-worth. Understood that her refusal to commit to a more permanent alliance wasn't aimed at him personally. Understood—more than anyone—her quest for the independence she'd never had. He'd had his... still had it to some extent... although, he had to admit, the thrill of being completely free and beholden to no one had lost much of its allure. Just knowing he _could_ hit the road whenever he chose seemed to suffice for the present. This comely girl was offering herself to him right now, right here. He'd be a fool not to accept.

"C'mere..." he said softly, reaching for the ribbon holding together the top of her chemise.

In no time they were both naked under the quilt, trying to achieve a workable approach. Carrie laughed and made him laugh when, initially, he exhibited some frustration and impatience. She didn't need to be told that, being more or less confined to one position—on his back—he was having trouble coming to terms with not being in control... with having to allow her to choreograph the motions.

The first attempt was precipitous... Carrie smothered his apologies with kisses.

"That was just a warm-up. Don't worry about it. We need to pace ourselves anyway. We've got all day and all night... and all day tomorrow."

"Whoa! We gotta get up sometime... to eat an' do... other things."

"Who says? And don't worry about the other things, either. Kim will help you when you need it... while I'll go to the washroom or something. Problem solved."

Jess' face burned but he admired her practicality at dealing with something else they'd never had to consider before.

"What'll the others think?"

Carrie rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. "Those two old men've banished themselves to that camper wagon thing out by the corral. Sally says they're okay with that... and she and Kim've got their own fish to fry this evening."

"Wait... hold up... Sally's Slim's woman... at least that's what Kim told me. I didn't know to believe him or not..."

"Well, tonight she's Kim's woman. He just doesn't know it yet."

"That's hard to swallow..."

"Not the only thing hard around here," Carrie chortled. "Cowboy up!"

Round Two was underway.

 **In the meantime, the potential advance** of a snow event was a minor hiccup in Sally's plan, but not an insurmountable one as long as it didn't develop into a major storm. In the hour before the scheduled arrival of the stage, she and the boys got the saddle horses into the barn. The coach horses and mules were already drifting toward the protection of the cottonwood grove at the back of the front pasture.

Late by thirty minutes, the stagecoach came to a jangling halt in the yard, scattering the chickens. As Opie and Mild Bill began unhooking the team, the driver laboriously clambered down from the box and stuck his head in the compartment to issue the usual invitation to the passengers. In her capacity as interim Overland representative, Sally stood by to greet them as they disembarked. A pair of men descended and an alarm went off in her head—one rarely saw Orientals riding the stage, much less Chinese gentlemen dressed in Western-style greatcoats and felt fedoras.

Sally led the way to the house with Mose bringing up the rear. Nothing in the passengers' manner indicated they were anything other than what they claimed—businessmen on their way to Cheyenne. Both spoke flawless, unaccented English. Nonetheless, the feeling that these two meant trouble continued to dog her as she served coffee and pie. Intuition was strongly suggesting that it had something to do with Kim. The gentlemen hadn't bothered to remove their coats. Sally discerned, from the telltale bulges in their otherwise well-tailored attire, that both were carrying weapons in shoulder holsters and boot sheaths.

Mose, being old school, liked his joe saucered and blowed. "Seen Jonesy an' the boy in town... heerd Slim took the train to Cheyenne. Keep that up an' I'll be outta a job!" The old man looked around. "Where's Jess keepin' hisself?"

"Jess isn't feeling well today, Mose. He's gone back to bed."

"That right? Sorry to hear it. Tell 'im I said get better soon."

"I will."

 _Where in hell is Kim?_

 **The men finished eating** and proffered thanks for the excellent service before returning their hats to their well-barbered, macassar-oiled and queueless heads. Just as Sally was about to dismiss her forebodings as baseless, the taller of the two men withdrew a folded card from an inside pocket. Opening it, he presented it to his hostess.

"Have you by any chance seen this man?"

The mounted tintype was of a couple on their wedding day, neither looking particularly happy. The bride was pretty, in a pinch-faced sort of way, enveloped in acres of white lace. Grim and very young but undeniably identifiable, the groom was Kim. Poker mask engaged, Sally lied like a politician while sending a mental message to Mose to keep his mouth shut.

"Can't say that I have. How about you, Mose?"

The old man peered closely, then shook his head. "Naw, Miss Sally. Ain't seen him around or on any run a mine. I'da remember ifn he had."

The man exchanged the print for a trade card—'Chan Private Detective Agency, San Francisco/Honolulu/Shanghai'.

"Thank you anyway, missus. If you should happen to come across this individual, would you be so kind as to contact us by telegram?"

"We'll keep an eye out. Is he... um... dangerous? D'ya think he's in Cheyenne?"

"We've recently developed a promising lead to that effect, yes. Good day to you, missus."

 _Where in hell is Kim?_

 **Following his passengers out the door,** Mose turned to give Sally a wink to let her know he wasn't going to blab about that _other_ party living at the ranch!

"Almost forgot to say, word come down from the main office... won't be no run tomorrer on account a thet storm movin' in. We orter get to Cheyenne right ahead of it. Ifn I see Slim I'll tell 'im about Jess bein' sick. You folks keep warm, hear?"

Sally sank against the table, jelly-kneed with relief until the rumble of the departing coach faded in the distance. What if she hadn't been convincing enough... and they came back? What to do? Someone needed to be told... someone needed to take charge and mount a defense... someone like Slim, who wasn't here. Although she hated to admit it, this situation wasn't one within her power to address.

If she told Kim, he might panic and try to run. He certainly wouldn't be in a fit state to factor into _her_ intentions for the evening. Yes... it was selfish of her, placing her own wants and needs ahead of his welfare... but there was nothing to be gained by frightening him into intemperate flight. Would in fact be detrimental to his physical health. Tomorrow would be soon enough. _Where is he, anyway?_

Other than the popping and hissing of logs in the stone fireplace and the murmurings of muted voices creeping under the door to the back bedroom, the house was oddly quiet for midday. Kim hadn't gone outside... his coat and hat were still on the rack. The front bedroom and bunkroom were both empty, leaving only the big washroom tacked onto the back of the structure to investigate.

 **The door was sticking** and Sally had to shoulder it open. The room was thick with steam so dense she could barely make out the occupant of the big oval tub. A kettle of boiling water sat atop the fully-stoked and roaring potbellied stove.

"What the...?" She jumped as a soap-laden sponge splatted the wall near her head.

"Next time I won't miss," Kim threatened, looking uncommonly relaxed. "Ever heard of knocking before entering?"

"I was worried about you... haven't seen you in hours."

"Now you have, so go away."

Sally bent over to pick up the sponge and returned the serve with deadly accuracy. Kim ducked below water level and came up laughing and sputtering.

"Who takes a bath in the middle of the day?" she demanded.

"It's the only chance I'll get to soak as long as I want to," Kim defended himself. "When everyone else is home we have to take turns and be quick about it."

"I guess I can understand that. How long have you been in there?"

"Since before the stage got here. Heard voices in the parlor but not what they were saying. You almost done outside?"

"Almost. Another hour or two should do it. Then I'll come in and start supper. You know... that looks like a great idea. When you're done would you do me a favor and set up the bath for me?"

"Of course. I'd be happy to."

"Okay. See ya after a while." Sally backed out and closed the door.

 **Mild Bill, Opie and Sally worked together** to corral the chickens and lock them in their coop. The cow was installed in her byre along with Jonesy's elderly pet donkey. The bull, who'd been peaceably sharing Deecy's pasture behind the barn, was returned to the foaling box. It was Opie's idea to put one of the orphan calves in with him as an experiment. Percy didn't seem to mind and was soon reclining majestically with all five calves nestled close by. The men fed and watered Andy's menagerie and secured tarps over the cages with tiedowns while Sally milked the cow.

Sally judged it was nearing sundown, although it was difficult to tell due to the leaden overcast. The wind cut like a knife, bearing sparse unwelcome icy pellets—sleet, not snow. Mild Bill and Opie once again declined an invitation to sleep over in the house, assuring her they'd be perfectly comfortable in the gypsy wagon. No... they wouldn't be coming in for breakfast but thank you all the same.

Inside, all was in order... lanterns lit and a blazing fire keeping the cold at bay. The kitchen table was laid for two. Kim was in the kitchen presiding over a pot of mystery stew or soup... whatever it was smelled heavenly.

"What're we having?"

"Not sure but I think it's cheese and potato soup. Something else Jonesy made ahead, in any case."

"Are you sure it hasn't gone off?"

"Well, I smelled it and tasted it. Seemed fine to me."

Kim flashed one of his rare smiles. The long hot soak had done wonders for his mood as well as his aches and pains. He looked comfortable in someone else's too-large longjohn top and the blue cotton drawstring pajama bottoms Aunt Emmaline had distributed to her patients in her Nurse Emma phase. Over that he wore an ancient tatty plaid flannel bathrobe, probably one of Jonesy's.

"You want to eat first or bathe first? Either's ready whenever you are."

"Eat, please... let me wash up."

Bringing two bowls to the table, Kim informed Sally that Jess and Carrie wouldn't be joining them—the girl had emerged from the back bedroom and sidled into the kitchen, timidly requesting a tray to take back.

Sally snickered. "How did she look?"

"Rumpled. Happy..." Kim paused. "I think satisfied is the word I'm looking for."

"Don't you love it when a plan comes together?"

"Pardon me?"

"Never mind. Eat your soup."

 **With the dishes washed** and the food put away, Sally retreated to the front bedroom to gather her bath things. Kim had earlier fired up the little ceramic stove in there to banish the chill. The atmosphere in the washroom was just as steamy as before and Sally sank gratefully into the hot water.

Not for the first time she contemplated the question of whether Kim's thoughtfulness was part and parcel of his nature... or a result of his unique upbringing. Even Slim—damned near as perfect an example of his gender as was possible—wasn't always as attentive to detail as he could be. Jess now... there was a man who was always finely tuned to his surroundings and the people inhabiting them. Even he sometimes misread cues, though—too often to his own detriment... Sally'd heard the story of that sorry ex-lover who'd lured him to Mexico only to betray him.

Drying herself off and towel drying her hair, Sally slipped into a flannel nightgown and her own robe—hardly exotic lingerie but one had to make do. In the parlor Kim had commandeered one of the rockers and was reading a book by firelight with his feet up on the ottoman. Taking the other rocker, Sally bent her head forward so that her hair curtained her face and was easier to brush out. Soon it was dry enough to flip back so that it settled in brunette waves about her shoulders. Sliding to her knees, Sally positioned herself directly in front of Kim, looking up slightly. Bemused, he put the book down and her hands found his.

" **Remember that afternoon up on the bluff?"**

"How could I forget?"

"And I said there'd be a time...?"

"Ah... yes..."

"This is that time."

"You mean... _now_?"

"Now as in not tomorrow. C'mon, get up..."

When Sally stood up with both of Kim's hands imprisoned in hers, he had no choice but to follow.

"Sally... I... maybe this isn't such a good idea..."

"Maybe. But you're coming with me anyway..."

There were so many considerations—moral, ethical, propriety—why they shouldn't... but when Sally pressed her body to his, Kim knew resistance was futile. The heart wants what it wants... and biological imperative triumphs over common sense every time. When she kissed him, he responded with an intensity she wasn't expecting. Without disengaging they moved as one toward the front bedroom.

Having anticipated the frantic, oftimes clumsy, attempt at consummation that usually accompanies a first-time effort with a new—and younger—partner, Sally was pleasantly surprised. No overzealousness here, but unhurried hands and a charming hesitancy... letting her set the pace. In the flickering incandescence from the stove revealing their faces and bodies to each other, they talked and loved with a tenderness she'd never before experienced… not even with Slim, who'd been her best ever lover… so far.

 _Definitely worth the wait! And if it's this good now, how much better it'll be in the future... but I won't know, will I? He'll be gone by then... and there's nothing I can do about it. Sally, old girl... heed Aunt Em's advice and don't let yourself fall for this man. He's not yours. You can't keep him..._

Drifting off, comfortably spooned with one arm protectively around Kim's chest, Sally wondered how the pair in the other room were doing.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_ _ **—**_ **TWO BIRDS**

" _ **If sex is such a natural phenomenon, how come**_

 _ **there are so many books on how to?"**_ _(Bette Midler)_

 **Tuesday, November 22nd...** Jess was right, of course... they had to get up _sometime_. In his dream he desperately needed to pee but was being held immobile... legs weren't working and he couldn't even feel his right arm. Then he started to wake up. Not instantly... more of a groggy ascension to successive layers of consciousness. He knew he was in bed, in his own room, even though it was too dark to see much—the fire in the stove had gone out and there was only blackness beyond the high uncurtained window. Andy must've let one of the barn cats in again... there was an unaccustomed weight and warmth on his shoulder and fur tickling his chin and lower jaw. Since when did cats snore that loudly?

A few more brain cells cranked up and started firing appropriate signals. Not a cat. Someone's head... attached to a body currently glued to his side with an arm thrown across his chest and a leg crossed over his. A woman's head and body. Recollection took its own sweet time clawing through morning cobwebs to reacquaint him with his bedmate's identity.

 _Holy smoke! It's Carrie Compton... what in Hades is she... oh... that's right..._

In addition to calling his attention to a full bladder, nature was also impolitely informing him of another urgent matter.

 _Oh no... not NOW!_

Stealthily Jess tried to slide his arm out from under her head without waking her up. Logically this would serve no purpose because she lay between him and the side of the bed he needed in order to sit up. Also, his arm was completely numb and uncooperative.

"Carrie!" he whispered. "Carrie... wake up." With his free hand he tried batting away the explosion of golden curls... there was a face under there somewhere.

"Mmfltspt." The arm around his torso slid down. He abandoned the hair and firmly moved the arm and its hand back up again.

"Carrie... please... I need for you to get up..."

"Uhhhnnnhuuunnnh?" He patted the arm a little less delicately.

"CARRIE..."

Her head shot up, connecting with his nose. "Whah... what?!"

"OW OW..."

"Oh my... I'm so sorry! Is it bleeding? Are you all right?" Sitting up and propped on one arm, her breasts were bobbing right in his face. "Can I do something?"

Jess was simultaneously rubbing his nose and shaking the pins and needles from his newly-freed left arm.

"I really need to... would you mind leavin' the room for a few minutes?"

Catching the disguised appeal for privacy, Carrie skittered out from under the quilt. Hopping up and down on the cold floor, she threw a wrapper around herself and tightened the sash. "Of course... I'll go start the coffee or something..."

Relief was just a chamberpot away.

 **In the other bedroom,** Sally lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

 _I am a wanton creature. Irresponsible. I preyed on a displaced, vulnerable young man and practically forced myself on him. It's not like he was a virgin or anything... but it was plain to see he's been in a steadily deteriorating mindset... and a man in a depressed state is apt to make decisions and agree to actions he'll regret later. I hope I'm not one of them._

Beside her and facing the wall, Kim was sleeping soundly, judging by the measured inhalations and exhalations. All she could see of him from the corner of her eye was a thin brown shoulder and a scruffy mane that resembled the southern aspect of a northbound golden retriever. It hit her then—eight weeks ago he'd had sufficient muscle mass providing an otter-smooth pelt over bone structure. Though nowhere near skeletal, his ribs and spinous processes were becoming more visible under the surface. The whipcord leanness that sat so well on Jess didn't suit Kim's smaller frame.

On that one day on the bluff Kim had revealed much about himself but little about his domestic life... and since then, nothing at all. Physically, he seemed in good enough health—certainly still in more than fair operating condition, if anyone asked her... and no doubt Carrie would.

 _This is my fault. I knew he was married before he admitted it. It was stupid of me to let myself get into a snit over it. I should have made more time for him. He must miss his family terribly and has no one to talk to about it._ _This must be what it's like for Jess... only worse. More than being separated from family, like Kim, he has_ no _family to return to. Funny, I've never given any thought to Jess having been orphaned and having to make his way in the world as best he could. No wonder he's so defensive. I should have been nicer to Jess all this time before he got hurt. Well... I can't lie around here all day berating myself for not being more nurturing... besides, I hear someone moving around in the kitchen..._

" **Good morning!"** Carrie looked up brightly as Sally turned the corner into the kitchen nook. "It's been ages since I've had to get a cookstove started, but I think she's caught. It'll be a few minutes before there's coffee... gotta find everything first..."

"I'll help..." Sally located the canister and ground the beans while Carrie filled the pot and poked more kindling into the stove. They carefully avoided looking directly at each other... salacious curiosity hung heavy in the atmosphere and neither wanted to be the first to yield.

Sally gave in with a choked snicker. "No offense, but you look like you've been drug backwards through a blackberry patch!"

"Oh yeah? Well, you look like you could scare the tailfeathers off a crow!" Carrie lobbed back.

They both laughed heartily.

"We could both use some emergency repairs before our men get a really good look at us," Sally observed.

After hasty cold-water ablutions in the washroom, Carrie studied herself in the mirror. "What am I gonna do about my hair?" she moaned, repeated combing having no taming effect on the riotous mop of curls.

"While we're having our coffee I'll plait it for you," Sally offered. Her own cascading waves had submitted meekly to gathering at the nape of the neck with a length of velvet ribbon. "I don't have any more ribbons but Jonesy keeps butcher's string in a drawer under the cabinet."

"I haven't worn braids since I was a little kid. I'll look ridiculous! Like a schoolgirl!"

"No you won't. We'll look like characters from _Little Women._ "

"Oh, I love that book! Read it last year."

"I'll be Jo and you can be Amy."

 **Sally had Carrie's tresses** pretty much under control by the time Jess came rolling out of the bedroom. He'd managed to struggle back into his customized undies and denims with a longjohn top. Sally immediately noted his positive demeanor and the long-missing sparkle lighting up his blue eyes. The doubts she'd been harboring about having orchestrated this house party evaporated in the luminescence of his handsome face. It may not have been the wisest move for Kim, but it certainly had the desired salubrious effect on Jess.

Before leaving the washroom, the women had got that stove going as well—the water in the kettle should be warm enough to shave by now. Sally informed him of that fact.

"Coffee'll be done in a few minutes. I'll fix you a mug and Carrie can bring it to you."

"That would be great!" Rotating the chair toward the hall entrance, Jess paused to admire the blonde's matching braids with escaped ringlets framing her heart-shaped face.

"You look just like a new doll baby on Christmas mornin'. I seen one once, place I worked. Boss' little girl brought it out to show us. Purtiest thing I ever seen!" With that he cheerfully wheeled himself down the hall toward the washroom.

"Doll baby?" Carrie queried. "I look like a _toy_?"

"Take it in the spirit it was meant, girl," Sally advised. "He thinks you're a treasure. You might want to consider marrying that man if he asks... he'd treat you like a queen."

"I know... and I'd probably be passing up the best opportunity I'll ever have... but, Sally, I want to be like you. You're your own woman. You decide what you want and then go for it and get it."

"Not always, Carrie," Sally replied. "Sometimes you find something you didn't know you wanted only to realize it's just out of reach. Maybe you can get it if you try hard enough... but only at the expense of someone else's happiness."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You will when you're older."

"Anyway... I'd like to travel. You've been everywhere... to the East, and Europe. I want to see all those places I've only read about. New York, San Francisco. Maybe even London and Paris. Once I settle down and start having babies, it'll never happen."

"Well... you're right about that, but it's something you have to decide for yourself."

The coffee was done and Sally showed Carrie the proportions of sugar and cream Jess preferred.

"That's a lot of sugar," the younger woman marveled. "Hope it doesn't rot his teeth. I especially like that little gap between the front ones!"

"Now that you mention it, yeah... gives him that special leprechaun grin! Now be careful not to spill... oh... and knock first!"

 **When Carrie didn't return right away,** Sally thought to check how much snow had fallen during the night. Dawn wasn't too far off... she could distinguish between the sky and the mountain skyline toward the east. The wind had subsided after blowing away the cloud cover. An insubstantial dusting of white stuff powdered the landscape and the front porch. The pastured horses had already left the shelter of the trees to get a head start on their grazing. Light shone through the window of the gypsy vardo and a trickle of smoke from its crooked chimney indicated the two old cowboys were already up and about. By noon most of the snow would have melted away.

A detour to the bedroom found Kim now on his back and blinking to wakefulness. Resting one hip on the side of the bed, Sally used the back of her hand to stroke the side of his face. He reached up to turn the hand over so he could kiss her palm.

"Come back to bed?"

"Um... _no._ It's almost daybreak. Time to rise and shine."

"Why? Are we going somewhere?"

"Jess and Carrie are already up. I'm fixing to start breakfast. And then I'm going to go help Bill and Opie."

"Didn't it snow?"

"Not much. We can turn the livestock back out. You can come and help if you like," Sally said, adding drily, "You're fit enough to do an honest day's work around here."

Kim let go of her hand, a shadow crossing his face. "Are you angry with me?"

Instant contrition. "No, not at all. I was just trying to be funny... and complimentary at the same time. You're definitely... _fit._ "

"Were you... was it...?"

"Now you're fishing... I can assure you, mister, you need no reassurance."

"I beg to differ... I need all the reassurance I can get. Come back to bed..."

"Nope. You get up now and don't dawdle. There'll be hot water in the washroom by the time you're dressed."

Kim sighed. "If you insist. Can I at least have a kiss?"

"Heck no... don't even breathe on me until you've cleaned your teeth."

Sally got up and left the room.

 **Breakfast was an extraordinarily subdued affair** with surreptitious glances darting from one to the other and no one daring to make direct eye contact. After Sally departed to assist with morning chores, they set up a production line with Kim washing, Jess drying and Carrie returning dishes to the breakfront. Still in her nightclothes and feeling self-conscious about it, the girl bustled off to the bedroom to dress, leaving the two men with no recourse but to finally face each other.

Jess curled and uncurled the fingers of his right hand, trying to work out the residual stiffness from the accident. As Young Doc had diagnosed, no bones were broken but there was damage to tendons and ligaments that would take much longer to heal than his broken limb. That it was his gun hand and trigger finger worried him more than he was willing to let on.

"Want a refill?" Kim offered politely, lifting the coffeepot.

"Sure, thanks."

Preparing their respective cups ate up more unfilled conversational spaces.

"So..." Jess finally drawled, lifting an eyebrow. "You an' Sally, huh?"

Kim looked abashed. "I wasn't planning on that happening."

"But you did it anyway. Slim ain't gonna like it."

"I don't think she intends for him to know about it. That's why she planned things the way she did."

"Pretty danged sneaky of her. And not fair to Slim."

"She set this up to benefit you, Jess. You were despondent, morose... that was the best idea she had to pull you out of it. From the look on your face, it was a good one, too."

"What's 'more rose'?"

"Down in the mouth, like you were giving up on life."

"Oh. Well. That's the pot callin' the fryin' pan black... you the one been goin' around like the hogs et your little brother."

"Sorry I haven't been better company. And it's 'kettle', not 'frying' pan.'

"Whatever! But about you an' Slim's girl..."

"They have an understanding... it's not like they're engaged. She and I were... it was just one of those things and likely won't happen again. You gonna marry that girl?"

"Carrie? No. She's too smart to have me, I reckon. An' I don't reckon I'm ready anyway. What about you… with a family back home? You ever goin' back to 'em?"

"Depends on if I live long enough."

"That murder business, you mean? How're you studyin' on gettin' out a that if you keep hidin'?"

"I've got people working on that for me."

"Does Sally know... about the family?"

"She knows I'm married. Not the rest."

"You gonna tell 'er?"

"I suppose I should."

"Hold on a minute..." Jess furrowed his brow and tried to snap his fingers, forgetting they weren't working that way at the moment. "I'm rememberin' you sayin' something' else... about _another_ wife an' a passel more kids?"

Carrie had come back into the room just as Jess was serving up his comment. She stopped cold and stared at Kim as if she'd spied a two-headed snake. "Two?" she croaked. "You have _two_ wives... and _how_ many children? Are you Mormon?"

Kim was starting to get annoyed. "One wife, one consort, seven children... all girls."

"Does Sally know about this?"

"It doesn't matter what Sally knows or doesn't know. I'm married. That's the end of it. I'll be gone out of all your lives soon enough."

Carrie was fascinated. Grabbing her own coffee cup, she plunked down at the table across from Kim. "I'm not being judgmental... honest! But I'd really like to know... there's been talk in town about you..."

"What kind of talk?" Kim was looking nervous. "No one's supposed to know I'm here."

"Oh come on, Laramie's a village. A hotbed of gossip. No matter how sneaky we went about leaving town, in forty-eight hours every soul there will know I spent two nights here... and why."

 **Diverted from his original line of inquiry,** Jess was already making mental leaps to the likely outcome of this information and not liking what he foresaw... especially with his gun hand temporarily out of commission.

"What dya know, Carrie... an' what've you heard?" Jess' voice, low and cold, made her shiver.

Before she could answer, the front door opened and Sally came in.

"Those two old farts told me I wasn't needed... they had everything under control and for me to go back into... what's with the gloomy faces... what's going on?"

Conversation halted until Sally'd peeled off her boots and outerwear. Snagging her own coffee cup from a hook, she pulled the fourth chair from under the square kitchen table and sat, looking around expectantly. "Go on, then..."

"Trouble, maybe..." Jess said slowly. "Carrie was just about to tell us..."

"Yesterday morning... before Sally came to get me, I was over at the Wings' place doing fittings... two of their young ladies are to be married next month, you know. We were in the dining room so we could spread out patterns on the table. We'd just finished and Missus Wing had gone off with her girls. I was left alone in the room to write up my notes..."

"What's that got to do with...?" Jess interrupted impatiently.

"Shush. Let her tell it in her own way." Though she spoke softly, Sally noticeably tensed.

Carrie continued. "While I was sitting there, Mister Wing came into the sitting room next door with Lychee... Mister McNutt... and Doctor Whatleigh. The connecting door wasn't shut all the way so I could hear them talking. They were speaking English because of Doctor Whatleigh. Mister Wing was telling them about some visitors he'd had the evening before... Chinese men who were asking about a man called Chen something, who might be using the alias Kimball something or some other foreign names—a yellow-haired white man with a tattoo on his back with a scar through it. I guess that'd have to be you, right?"

" **Yes. That would be me."**

"Can I see it?"

"For Pete's sake show it to her so's we can get on with the important part!"

Tossing Jess an irritated grimace, Kim stood up and turned around, pulling up his shirt so Carrie could get a good look. To her credit, the girl didn't blink an eyelash.

"Thanks. So anyway, Mister Wing spun a story about you having passed through some time back and as far as he knew you'd gone on to Cheyenne. These men said they were agents for some private detective agency back in San Francisco. After they left Mister Wing asked Young Doc how you were doing, if you were well enough to ride and so on. Young Doc said yes but you were really needed out here at the ranch for a while longer so he was going to encourage you to stay."

"I see."

"I don't think you do, Kim. There's more. And it involves you, Jess..."

"Whaaaat? How do I come in it?"

"Just because I'm not... um... working anymore doesn't mean I don't keep up with my friends. We meet for breakfast at the Camas Lily on Sunday mornings before the church crowd starts coming in. Some of the girls were telling about these bounty hunters drinking and bragging downstairs about how they were going to get two birds with one stone... that gunslinger Harper and his chink outlaw pal out at the Sherman place. 'Scuse my language, Kim... I know that's not a nice word."

Three pairs of shocked eyes zeroed in on Carrie.

"When were you planning to tell us about this, Carrie?" Sally's voice was tight.

"Today, as a matter of fact." The girl lifted her chin in defiance. "If I'd told you yesterday we wouldn't have... there wouldn't be... it would've spoiled everything."

"People shooting at us would have _really_ spoiled everything if we weren't prepared to defend ourselves," Sally retorted sharply.

Carrie shrugged. "They wouldn't have come last night. Those barflies were drunk... they're no doubt sleeping it off right now. And Mister Wing sent those other two off on a wild goose chase. Probably won't be seeing them again."

" **Wrong!" The eyes swiveled to Sally.** "They came through on the stage yesterday. They questioned me..."

"Where was I?" Kim asked.

"You were in the tub. I was afraid you were going to walk right into the room. They have the posters, Kim. They know you on sight. One of them left this." Sally produced the trade card from a shirt pocket and handed it over.

Kim scanned it and handed it to Jess. "The Chan Agency is a triad cover. A triad is a criminal organization... a gang."

"So they don't really do private detectin'?"

"Sure they do... for show. Their real business is wet work... assassinations, gang wars, deliveries of bodies—whole or parts, alive or dead... anything for a fee. When these men lose the trail in Cheyenne they'll be back."

Jess was looking puzzled. "About them other bounty hunters... whadda they want with me? Ain't no price on me anymore. That got settled... I got the papers to prove it."

"Perhaps they didn't get the memo," Sally interjected drily, standing up. "Let's not panic. Forewarned is forearmed. We'll assemble all the weapons we have and make sure they're ready to go in case we need them. Jess, I know there's some stashed out in the barn. Tell me where to look. I'll warn Opie and Mild Bill, they have pistols and rifles in the van."

 **After she'd left again,** Jess looked to his remaining cohorts. "Carrie, get that old Indian blanket off the faintin' couch an' spread it on the parlor table. Kim... there's a locker under the back bunk in my bedroom. You can start bringin' me everythin' in it an' puttin' it on the table."

Installed at the head of the table, elevated on risers to accommodate the arms of his wheelchair, Jess snapped out more instructions. The other two obeyed without comment. Jess' modified gunfighter's pistol was retrieved from its hidden cubby in the fireplace and two boxes brought forth from the bottom of the triangular corner cabinet near the front door—one containing gun cleaning supplies and the other rags. Gun maintenance was an oily business.

Sally came in briefly to deliver weapons cached in the barn. Peering at the assortment of vintage weaponry arranged on the tabletop, she laughed.

"Good Lord! Some of these must date back to the forties and fifties..."

"Yes m'am!" Jess grinned. "Some of 'em belonged to Slim's pa in his younger days afore he settled to farmin'. This one here was Slim's durin' the war. An' this one..."

"I'm sure each has a fascinating history, Jess... but all I want to be sure of is that they're in good working order and loaded." With that, Sally strode out the door. "Be back in a bit..."

"Got the wind in her sails," Kim commented, eyeing the collection warily. "So... um... what do we do now?"

 **Jess' eyebrows soared.** "You ain't never took a gun apart an' cleaned it before?"

"Actually... no," Kim replied pleasantly. "But I have a feeling I'm going to learn."

It would never have occurred to Jess to put that same query to Carrie. He was speechless when she casually reached over, selected a weapon and had it disassembled in less than a minute.

"Hand me that oil can, please."

"How... where...?"

"I wasn't born and raised in a whorehouse. My daddy used to hunt. There weren't any boys... just me and my sisters. We all learned to hunt, field dress, butcher... _and_ take care of our own rifles and shotguns. Pistol can't be all that different. Might need your help putting it back together, though."

Kim was choking back laughter at the astonishment on Jess' face... as much the result of his own ignorance of projectile weaponry as Carrie's proficiency.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_ _ **—**_ **GALS 'N GUNS**

" _ **Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change."**_ _(Stephen Hawking)_

 **The only human being** the Sherman's Jersey cow truly respected was Sally, who brooked no nonsense. After having her ear painfully twisted a time or two, Deecy stood obediently four-square and let down her milk as nicely as you please. Too, she thoughtfully refrained from swatting against her attendant's ear the manure-encrusted switch at the end of her tail.

Sally was hunkered on the stool, forehead to flank as she rhythmically stripped the last of the milk into the pail, when a not-foreign sound intruded on the peaceful atmosphere of the byre, barely audible above the gurgling of Deecy's digestive tract and heavy breathing. Though still a ways off, it sounded suspiciously like a stagecoach coming from the direction of Cheyenne.

 _What the hell? Mose said there'd be no morning run today!_

Done anyway, Sally moved the stool and the two pails out of harm's way. Opening the door to the pasture and releasing the bar on the stanchion, she shooed the cow out. As she exited the barn's back door and trudged to the house with a full pail in each hand, the coach could be heard but not yet seen. Mild Bill and Opie stepped out through the barn's front door, pitchforks in hand. They'd heard it, too.

Sally put down the pails on the porch and walked out to meet Mose as he pulled the team to a halt and monkeyed down from the box, looking about as cross as she felt.

"You said no run today. We don't have the relays ready."

"T'ain't my doin's, Miss Sally. That there storm didn't amount to a fart in a hurrycane so headquarters said go ahead an' go on back to Laramie."

"Any passengers?" With the leather curtains in place, the interior couldn't be seen.

"Just the two..." Sally's stomach plummeted to her stockings... _please please please don't let it be those two thugs!_

Mose lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Claim they's entertainers but they look like sportin' gals to me... not that I got anythin' against 'em! How long's it gonna take to catch me up a fresh team?"

"Thirty, forty minutes, maybe... we'll do the best we can, Mose. Let's get your ladies inside. Too cold for 'em out here."

 **The 'ladies' turned out to be identical twins,** in a surprisingly agreeable frame of mind considering the discomfort of traveling in a pitch-dark coach for the thirty-eight miles from Cheyenne. The trade-off for light from an uncovered window would have been freezing wind blasting into the compartment. Taken aback to find themselves confronted by a very large woman in overalls, fleece coat and boots, they recovered with élan... identifying themselves as Judy and Trudy Dimick, the latter possessing a beauty mark on her right cheek distinguishing her from her sister.

Upon receiving the invitation to come indoors for refreshments, Judy dimpled prettily. "That's ever so kind of you, Miss... er... Missus...?"

"Call me Sally. Please excuse the mess... today's the day we clean armaments. Tomorrow's target practice."

The two women looked around curiously as they removed their hats and capes.

"I'm afraid it's a little crowded at the parlor table at the moment. Hope you don't mind sitting at the kitchen table... or you can sit by the fire if you'd like. You must be chilled. I'll put a pot on... would you prefer coffee or tea?"

"Either would be quite welcome, thank you," Trudy said. They were dressed identically as well. Introductions were made all around.

"There seems to be plenty of room at the other end of the parlor table... and this is so interesting... perhaps we could just sit here?" Judy queried.

Kim stood up hastily and came around to pull chairs out for the ladies.

"Why thank you!"

They were probably wondering why the other man didn't stand as well… until they spotted the wheelchair. Kim explained Jess' broken-leg-in-a-cast status.

"Oh dear... how awful for you!"

A pregnant pause ensued. Suddenly one of the newcomers leaned forward, peering at one of the guns nearest their end of the table.

"Sister... isn't that a Lefaucheux 1854?"

"I believe you're correct, Sister... and look... over there... if that isn't an original Smith and Wesson Model One!"

Judy practically leaped up from her chair in excitement. "Oh my goodness! An 1859 Sharps... in pristine condition!"

The less energetic sister simply looked around at the four faces with mouths agape. "You'll have to excuse my sibling's enthusiasm... you see, our father's rather well known in the gunsmithing trade... we cut our teeth on handgrips and stocks."

The gears were churning at top speed in Jess' head. "Dimick... Dimick... you don't mean Horace Dimick... St. Louis?"

"That would be him," Trudy said. "What a splendid collection... are they destined for a museum?"

"Yes... yes indeed," Sally piped up, coming behind them so that they couldn't see her expression as she waggled her eyebrows at her three people. "They're being donated to the Laramie Historical Society and we want to be sure they're presentable. We don't actually have a museum yet... but we will."

A lively discussion was up and running, mainly between Jess and the twins. Carrie nimbly took over serving refreshments so that Sally could go back out to help with the horses. "Kim... would you come along, please?"

 **Curious but not questioning,** Kim got up to slide into his boots and don a jacket. This was the first time anyone'd asked him to help with an outside chore. They were outside, down the steps and headed for the corral when she put a hand out to stop him.

"I apologize for not telling about those two men last night. I had my reasons."

"What reasons could you possibly have for withholding that kind of information, Sally?"

"You would have worried all night."

"As opposed to being scared shitless now? You should've told me..."

"And then what? What would you've done?"

"Dunno... rode out, I guess. Drawn them away from here, for one thing. These're dangerous men. They don't care who gets in their way..."

"If they tracked you this far, they can find you anywhere. Out there you won't be in a position to defend yourself. Here with us you at least have a chance." Sally knew her voice was rising in shrillness and fought to lower it. Kim was studying her face in exasperation.

"What do you want me to do? Hide behind Jess' wheelchair... or your skirt... well, if you were wearing one? I'm no match for a man with a gun. I can't hit the side of a barn. Maybe a couple of months ago I could've held my own, man-to-man with a knife, but not now... that leaves me with one option—cut and run."

Sally could feel tears threatening to erupt and that made her mad. She opened her mouth to say something she knew she'd probably regret when Mose came up to them. "You mind if I run in an' get me some coffee right quick? I'm plumb froze."

"You go right ahead. We'll help finish up with the team."

"Thankee, Miss Sally. Oh... almost forgot... got a message from Slim for ya. Ran inta him in the dinin' room at the Eagle Hotel... says he's comin' in on the 8:05 westbound tonight so's you can meet him at the station with the wagon."

"Tonight?" Sally squeaked. "Why didn't he just ride in with you?" _And thank all gods he didn't take that notion!_

Mose shrugged. "Reckon he weren't done with his bidness yet. Didn't ax 'im."

"Okay. Thanks, Mose. Go on in and get some of that pie, too, before Jess eats it all."

The old man hiked away and Sally slapped both arms against her sides. "Well dammit! That sure throws a wrench in the clockwork!" She added a particularly ripe oath in Cantonese that had Kim grinning in spite of his displeasure.

Hauling out her pocketwatch, Sally cursed again. "Not only inconvenient but selfish. We're going to have to hustle to clear away the evidence and clean up the house. Darn… I'll have to drop Carrie off before going to the depot… darn, it'll still be light out and she might be seen…"

"Why not put her on the stage?" Kim suggested. "She won't even have to disguise herself as a boy. Anyone who sees her getting off wouldn't know she didn't leave on it in the first place..."

Sally's mouth fell open. She grabbed Kim by the cheeks and kissed him on the forehead. "You're a genius... except for one thing... she didn't bring any traveling ensembles with her! And what are we going to tell those two women?"

Kim thought about it. "They strike me as being a pair of good eggs. I say, tell 'em the truth... that the owner of the ranch is a prude who wouldn't approve of his foreman bringing his _amor_ onto the premises. We need to return her to town as quickly as possible in order to protect her reputation. I think they'd be thrilled to be in on a covert operation and would gladly lend her the proper clothes."

"We'll have to take that chance. And Mose won't say anything. He loves a good prank. You go back in and explain the situation."

"You explain it!"

"Look over there." Sally gestured toward the pasture where Mild Bill and Opie had yet to corner the first coach horse. "I've got to help them catch up a team plus two more for the wagon. We don't have time to waste."

The business of the triad menace was temporarily shelved. Due to the extended delay, the downtime snack turned into a lunch opportunity. Kim and Carrie worked together producing sandwiches for all and keeping the coffeepot on the boil.

 **Trudy and Judy were,** as Kim correctly surmised, all too happy to participate—in their minds envisioning the absent owner as a crabbed, elderly, humorless gent who'd be mortified at any unsanctified assignations going on under his roof. No one disabused them of the notion... they'd find out soon enough if they spent any time in Laramie which, as it happened, they were indeed planning. Describing a trunk to be brought in from the rear boot, they bundled Carrie off to the bedroom.

Jess transferred himself from the wheelchair to a rocker by the fire and sat there gloomily staring into the flames. Carrying two white china mugs and a small glazed pottery jug into the parlor, Kim installed himself in the other rocker. Uncorking the jug, he filled both mugs halfway with clear liquid and handed one over.

Jess sniffed, wrinkling his nose. "Where'd you get this from?"

"Root cellar. Jonesy showed me where he hides it, in case of an emergency."

"We got an emergency?" Jess took a tentative taste and shuddered.

"To my way of thinking, if you're expecting an attack, that's emergency enough."

"Slim don't like him keepin' hooch in the house—'cept for medicinal purposes."

"Slim isn't here."

Jess took another sip and made a face. "You sure this ain't some a Jonesy's horse liniment? Where'd he get it?"

"Traded some Russian peddler for it, is what he said. It's called 'vodka'… made from potatoes."

"It ain't whiskey, that's for sure."

"No... but it's what we've got."

"Better'n nothin'."

"Yep. And last night was better than none at all, so be grateful for the one night we _did_ have."

Jess held his mug out. "Wouldn't mind another snort. Just a little, though. Need to keep our heads clear..."

Kim tipped a couple of splashes into their mugs before bunging the cork back into the jug. "If there's gonna be shooting, I'd rather not know about it." He got up and carried the jug back into the kitchen, hiding it beneath the counter and behind the flour bin. Returning to the parlor, he plunked himself back down in the rocker.

" **I been wondering somethin',"** Jess said, as they waited for the women to make an appearance.

"What's that?"

"How come you got so many names? Which one's your real name?"

"All of them. That's the disadvantage of cultural diversity... and being multi-racial."

"That don't exactly answer my question. You mean on account a you bein' a halfbreed an' all? No offense. Like someone's got a white name from his pa an' a Injun name from his ma?"

"Something like that. My father's house is English, Chinese and Italian. When I'm there, I'm Kimball Chen Camerata."

"You got much to do with your pa?"

"Not unless it's convenient for _him_. His wife doesn't want his bastards coming around and contaminating her precious legitimate children."

"Your folks ain't married?"

"No. My mother is half-Melanesian, part-Siamese and part-French. She named me Kimbahle Sonchai Michelin in honor of her grandparents' houses. Keanu Kahále is my stepfather. I use his surname professionally in business."

"You're named after _houses?_ "

"In this context 'house' means family group... sort of like a tribe or a clan. I'm used to shuttling between cultures and having to be a different person in each one."

"Ain't that confusin'?"

"No more than it is for you."

"How do you mean?" Jess demanded. "I don't change. I'm always me."

"From my perspective you're a chameleon, Jess. You don't just react, you present a whole new personality to each individual circumstance or person."

"If you're meanin' I ain't right in the head... like Miss Emmaline..."

"I mean adaptability... not mental aberration. You're one person with Andy, a different one with Slim and Jonesy, and sometimes..." Kim trailed off uncertainly.

"And sometimes what?"

"Well... the gunfighter's always there, isn't he? In the shadows..."

"You can see that?" At this point anyone who knew Jess well would have guffawed at his bewilderment... a man wholly incapable of concealing his emotions (away from the poker table) but smugly convinced that he was a master at it.

"I can see it _now_. Saw it an hour ago when Carrie said her piece. If you'd been able, you would've saddled up right then and there, strapped on that rig and gone straight to town to make a dent in the population."

"You got that right!"

"But since you can't, you're waiting for them to bring the fight to you. Me... I'm scared and I don't mind saying so."

"Scared or not, you're gonna have to help me. If they come tonight, we're sittin' ducks... you know that, doncha?"

"I know."

 **Interior preparations got underway** as soon as Sally reentered the house and started issuing instructions. There wasn't much Jess could contribute other than returning to the table to begin reassembling and loading hardware. Kim was co-opted to help strip bed linens and remake the beds after rearranging them back to their normal configuration. The twins and Carrie—now attired in an appropriate traveling ensemble—took over the kitchen, quickly and efficiently tidying up wherever necessary.

Presently Mose stuck his head back in the door to announce the coach was ready to roll. Trudy and Judy trilled their goodbyes and stepped out to reboard. Sally and Kim retired to the porch so Jess and Carrie could exchange their farewells in privacy—the latter trailing tears when she emerged a few minutes later.

Gloved hands waving from the windows, the coach lurched forward as the horses threw themselves into their collars and trotted away.

"I don't suppose you're coming back tonight," Kim murmured.

"No. Not until Saturday... and even then..." Sally spread her hands. "We can't..."

"I know. Best we forget it ever happened."

"I don't think I can."

"Me neither."

"Let's go in. I have to get my things..."

Stoically fitting components together, Jess wouldn't look up, not wanting the others to see on his face what he was feeling inside. If he had, he would've seen his own nervousness reflected in their eyes.

Sally turned to the front bedroom to pack her valise. Kim sat to Jess' right at the parlor table, facing the door. "Better start showing me how these things go together."

Putting her bag by the door, Sally joined them, sitting at Jess' left side and facing Kim with a carefully composed face... afraid she'd lose it if they chanced to touch.

"Aint you gonna put on a dress or somethin', goin' to meet Slim?" Jess inquired casually.

"Why? This is how he's used to seeing me. Him and everyone else. He wouldn't recognize me all gussied up in a frock."

"Izzat so? How 'bout without one?" _Holy shit! What made me say that?_

"Watch. Your. Mouth." Sally's expression would've turned Medusa to stone.

"Sorry."

"You'd better be."

"I am. I am... an' I'm... grateful... for what you did for me an' Carrie."

The look dissolved. "And I'm sorry our fun's been cut short. He was supposed to be gone until tomorrow. I don't have any control over that."

"It's just that, I was thinkin'—hopin' maybe—we'd have a little more time to get to know each other..."

"How much better do you _need_ to know each other? Unless you're thinking of marriage."

"What? Oh no... no. Uh... we didn't talk about that. What've I got to offer, anyways?"

"Not all girls consider wealth and material goods an inducement to marriage, Jess. You're a fine man with solid prospects if you stick with Slim."

"That's what he said." Jess gestured to his right.

"It's just that _she's_ not ready for it yet."

"But... all gals wanna get married, don't they?"

"No, not all of us. You may not want to accept it but the times are changing. Modern women are realizing they can make other choices about how they live their lives. Look at me. Heck, we can even _vote_ now and serve on juries..."

"Well, you're different. A woman can't work an' be a wife an' mother, too."

"If I thought you meant that as an insult, I'd smack you into next week. And might I remind you I _am_ a mother?"

Jess was nodding furiously. "No m'am. That was no insult. You're one hell of a woman!"

"I suppose that's a compliment, coming from you..."

Jess turned to Kim. "How about helpin' me out here...?"

"Sorry, pal. You're on your own. You dug it, you lay in it!"

Sally got up to answer the rap on the door. It was Mild Bill letting her know the spring wagon was ready.

"You have to leave this early?" This from Kim with a frown.

"It'll take me at least three hours, walking those horses. I have to leave 'em enough juice to get back here tonight."

"What if you meet them bounty hunters comin' the other way?" Jess wanted to know.

She shrugged. "They have no interest in me. It's you two who need to be on guard. I asked the boys to come in here soon's I'm gone so you can coordinate your battle plan. I'm counting on you, Jess. Don't let Slim and Jonesy and Andy come home to a massacre."

"Didja hafta put it that way?" Jess rolled his eyes.

Kim made to stand up to walk her out to the wagon.

"No. Please don't. I hate goodbyes." With that she turned and walked out.


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15_ _ **—**_ **WHEN IDIOTS INVADE**

" _ **Worry does not mean fear, but readiness for the confrontation."**_ _(Bashar al-Assad)_

 **The afternoon hours stretched interminably.** Mild Bill and Opie'd come in for coffee and a briefing, their shotguns and sidearms checked and approved by Jess.

"Just 'til nightfall, then you boys go ahead an' turn in. Don't think anyone'll make a move on us after dark, but we'll take turns keepin' watch 'til Slim an' them get home."

"We may be old but we ain't dead yet," Opie said.

"I ain't as good a shot as I uster be," Mild Bill added, "but with a scattergun it don't matter!"

The weapons were all loaded and arrayed on the table, as ready as they'd ever be. Jess had Kim heft the shotguns to get the feel of them and showed him how to load and fire.

"Just aim in the general direction an' pull the trigger. Can't hardly miss but try not to hit a horse. Brace yourself, too... or else the recoil'll knock you on your ass."

"How do you know there'll be trouble?"

"I don't... but I got a feelin'..."

"And that's enough to go on?"

"For me it is. What're you so worried about? We're ready."

"I'm way past worried. What next?"

"We wait."

 _(_ _ **Gracie's commentary...**_ _Years of living on the edge had equipped Jess Harper with sensory advantages as efficient as any wild creature's. Scents and sounds, minute fluctuations in atmosphere, the non-verbal signals of men and beasts predicating intent—all combined to flow through the permeable barrier separating instinct from experience to produce that prescient 'feeling' Jess relied on to alert him to possible danger... and that was something not possible to describe without sounding like an old fogie claiming the ability to predict weather according to his rheumatism.)_

 **One mile out on the stage road...** a marginally educated Louisianian and a functionally illiterate Georgian were reviewing their not too carefully thought out get-rich-quick scheme for capturing one each Texan and Chinaman.

"You sure they's alone, Huey?" Vester Maddox queried anxiously of his partner Huey Longfish.

"I asked around, Ves. Only four people live on the station... three men and a kid. That Sherman fellow left for Cheyenne on the train yesterday morning. The old man and the boy stayed in the hotel last night—they're still in town. That leaves Harper and the other one."

"You sure we gonna be able ta get the drop on 'em without no trouble?"

Huey addressed his partner with a confidence born of ignorance. "Harper's got a broken leg. He's in a pushchair, so I heard. As for the Chink... you ever seen one that wasn't a little mousey dude afraid of his own shadow?"

Vester mulled that over before a new impedance occurred to him. "How you aimin' ta get that Harper on a horse ifn he cain't straddle one?"

Huey sighed. "On his belly if we have to... but there's probably a wagon or a buggy of some sort about the place that we can borrow, along with a team."

"Ooooooh... I ain't studyin' on no horse thievin'!"

"It's only stealing if you keep 'em. We just need to borrow 'em long enough to get our load delivered to the Cheyenne jail."

"Um... Huey? Why cain't we just take 'em back to Laramie? Save ourselves a long, hard ride..."

"Because the sheriff's a friend of theirs... Sherman and Harper, I mean. He won't cooperate." Huey was getting impatient. "Will you stop bitchin' and concentrate on what we talked about? Now... when we get there this is what I want you to do..."

 **In the ranch house...** Jess had directed Kim to pull the fainting couch away from the parlor window and slide up the sash far enough to admit a rifle barrel. The only other road-facing window was in Jonesy's room and it, too, was now open. There wasn't enough room to move the bed so a shooter would have to kneel on it. The parlor and kitchen exterior doors were windowed but it would look suspicious for either or both to be standing open on a chilly day.

The two men were playing old maid at a corner of the parlor table—without speaking at Jess' insistence... all the better to hear anything going on outside.

"If only Slim'd kept those dogs..." Kim was referring to the well-intentioned gift of a pair of coonhound puppies which ultimately had been returned to the giver—no one had time to train them.

"Hush up," Jess murmured.

"Or geese. Geese would be good. They actually make better watchdogs than dogs..."

"Be quiet, will ya?!"

"Cold in here. Can't feel my fingers..." It was a toss-up if the trembling in Kim's hands was due to numbness or nervousness.

"Shut up, dammit... I think I hear somethin'..."

"I don't hear any..."

"Riders comin'..."

Backing the chair away from the table, Jess wheeled over to the window and elevated himself to a standing position by grasping the sill and leaning on it. All the rifles had already been propped within easy reach against the wall underneath. "Bring me the pistols!"

Kim carried over the handguns Jess had already set aside, placing them on the seat of the wheelchair.

"Don't just stand there... get to your post!" Jess barked.

Kim fled into the adjacent bedroom, banging his knee on one of the shotguns already lined up on the bed and swallowing an exclamation of pain. Although he could see out through the scrim of lace curtains and the sparse vegetation of a spindly rose bush growing right outside the window, it was unlikely anyone outside would notice that the window itself was open. Leaves and lace afforded no protection whatsoever from incoming missiles but it gave the illusion of cover... a very small comfort.

 **Two mounted men rounded the curve** into view and pulled up just out of effective pistol range. They appeared to be conferring with each other, pointing toward the house. Both pulled out their rifles. One of them advanced his horse a few paces, shouting.

"We come for ya, Harper. Come out with yer hands up!"

Jess kept quiet, wanting to see what they'd do next. The second man moved up to the first one, talking and gesticulating with his free hand. The first one nodded and, brandishing a poster-sized paper, yelled again.

"We know you're in there, Harper... an' we aim to get us that five hunnert dollars ree-ward!"

This time Jess responded. "You dang fools! That Texas paper is four years outta date... I was cleared a them charges. Go ask Sheriff Corey before you get yourselves killed for nothin'!"

Hard to be sure from this far away but Jess thought he recognized the larger man as Louse Longfish, a lowlife scumsucking self-proclaimed bounty hunter who slithered into town every now and then when he'd managed to score a capture—even a blind pig can find an acorn once in a while. Louse had acquired his nickname due to an unfortunate habit of gracing hotel beds with infestations wherever he stayed the night. The man making all the noise, then, had to be Axhandle Maddox—known for dispatching victims by applying a stout length of polished ash to the back of the skull. The pair preferred to deliver their prey with little to no resistance. Dead was easiest.

Louse's slightly deeper voice boomed out. "You don't have any backup, Harper... we know all your folks are away. And we know you're hobbled by that broke leg. Don't make us have to come in there after you!"

"Nothin' wrong with my trigger finger, Louse. You an' Ax better get on down the road an' leave us in peace!"

"Not 'til we get what we came for... and we want that Chink, too. He's worth even more than you... a lot more! He's gonna be our retirement fund..."

"Forget it... come any closer an' I'll blow you outta the saddle!"

The verbal sparring might've gone on longer had not Vesper Maddox's intestinal fortitude failed him at a crucial moment. _It'll be a piece of cake,_ Huey'd assured him. _Harper's gone soft, let his skills go... plus he's hurt and outta shape. We can take him easy!_ Well, the man wasn't so soft he wasn't threatening back. Vester could plainly see the glint off the rifle barrel laid across the window sill... ergo, Jess Harper's eagle eye must be right behind it. Any moment now he might be taking dead aim at one or the other... and with Vester's luck, he'd be the first to bite the dust.

 _Or..._ he, Vester, could shoot _first_. One lucky shot would drill the bastard right between the eyes and he, Vester, would get to rub Huey's nose in that accomplishment for weeks or even months to come. It was worth a try. His horse was relatively still, head down in pursuit of a morsel of grain the chickens might have missed. Vester lifted his rifle, sighted in and squeezed the trigger.

 **When the glass panes above his head shattered,** Jess instinctively threw himself to the side, almost losing his balance. Recovering quickly, he shot back, gratified to see Louse double over momentarily—hit but not out of the game. He fired again but Louse's mount was skittering and the shot missed. Vester was fighting to get control of his startled animal and simultaneously continuing to shoot at the house. Jess heard the thunk of lead hitting the walls and front door.

The deafening report of a shotgun bellowed out of the bedroom into the parlor, followed by a loud crash and matched by a shot coming from the barn... that would be Opie up in the hayloft, firing through the loading door. Jess quickly realized a rifle wasn't much use to him at the moment—he needed two hands to fire it with any accuracy... and one to maintain balance. Throwing down the rifle he reached for a pistol. Probably wouldn't be able to nail anything at this range but at least he could keep 'em busy.

A third shotgun opened up from near the gypsy wagon—Mild Bill. Pellets peppered the muddy earth around the horses' feet, flinging up gouts of mud and showers of pebbles. Amazingly, both riders managed to keep their seats on their maddened, gyrating animals, although they'd both lost their rifles and were now wielding pistols. Bullets flew every which way.

Jess was wrong about his trigger finger—it hurt like hell, requiring strength of will to bend it... and hadn't Young Doc cautioned him about abusing those barely healed ligaments? Switching the revolver to his left hand, he continued firing although his chances of hitting anything were negligible.

 _Those two idiots must know by now they're outgunned two to one... why don't they call it a day and leave, dadgummit! Wished I hadn'ta told Opie and Bill to shoot_ near _'em instead a_ at _'em._

More glass disintegrated in the fusillade sweeping the front of the house... and then an abrupt cessation of noise, other than the squealing of the two terrified horses. The would-be attackers had at last run out of ammunition and their mounts were impolitely declining to stand still long enough to let them reload. Came then the very welcome sound of galloping hooves receding down the road.

Jess almost collapsed against the windowsill in relief. The strain of bracing himself against the sill to offset the weight of the cast had resulted in fierce cramping of the muscles of his lower back. His right hand was throbbing. And he was perspiring and freezing at the same time. The front of his shirt was damp. Suddenly he felt very, very tired... so tired he wasn't sure he could make it as far as the bedroom. The fainting couch was right there... one hop and he could just lie right down and...

" **Jess? Jess... wake up, boy."**

The face that swam into focus was seamed like a dried apple with a shiny noggin and an overgrown 'stache. Rheumy grey eyes were looking down at him in concern. A warm wet rag was being applied to his neck by Mild Bill.

"How long was I out?" Jess tried to struggle to his elbows but dizziness washed over him.

"Not long. Don't try to get up just yet. Best wait 'til the bleedin' stops."

 _Bleedin'? What bleedin'?_

"Was I hit? I didn't feel anything..."

"Not by no bullet. Was glass gotcha, right c'here." Bill pointed to the hollow over his left collarbone. "It ain't too bad... startin' ta clump up a little."

"Are they... gone?"

"Yep. Don't reckon they's comin' back tonight. We got their rifles an' you winged one of 'em." Bill looked quite pleased with himself.

"They'll be back. They're too dumb to give up that easy."

"Maybe. But not tonight. An' Slim'll be home. Ifn you think he was in a bad mood when he took out, boy howdy... jus' wait'll he sees this mess!"

 _The windows! He'll be mad enough to chaw horseshoes an' spit out nails... an' I'm gonna get the blame for it, like always!_

"Gotta get up... the windows..."

"Listen here, sonny. I'd a sight druther he come home to no windows than no Jess. You gonna stay down ifn I gotta sit on yuh!" Mild Bill removed a crimson-soaked folded-up towel from Jess' shoulder and replaced it with a fresh one.

Tell the truth, Jess really didn't want to get up right then. Warm enough under the heavy woolen blanket that had been tucked around him, the air he was breathing was crisp and cold. "The windows..." he again whispered, shirtless and shivering.

"Me an' Opie's gonna take care of 'em soon's we kin turn loose a you boys... found some old canvas in the barn we kin cover 'em with."

Bill and Opie together had removed the shirt altogether rather than try to pick off pieces of glass. Unlike his sidekick, Opie still sported a full head of hair and had employed his personal pocket comb to remove as many shards as he could from Jess'.

Jess clutched at the arm tendering the washrag.

"Kim... is he okay?"

"Had him a little accident but he'll be fine... mostly."

"Where is he?"

"Still in the bedroom..."

"Wanna see 'im..."

"Waaal... first one a ya kin git up an' walk unner his own steam kin visit t'other 'un."

Opie came around the corner with a mug of something he said was hot tea but tasted more like moonshine that might've had a tea leaf waved over it—went down smooth with a kick like a mule. After a few minutes Jess drifted away again.

 **The only reason Kim had escaped carnage** by broken glass was that he'd been blown away from the window before it was taken out. Instead of leading off with the smallest bore birdgun as directed, he'd grabbed the first shotgun to hand—the Walker double-barreled model. Panic-stricken at the sound of exploding glass in the other room, he'd somehow managed to discharge both barrels at the same time. Kneeling on the bed hadn't provided him with the recommended stance for dealing with the force of the recoil, which had propelled him backwards off the bouncy bed surface and headfirst against the miniature stove.

Kim was still unconscious when Opie and Mild Bill had rushed in. After feeling for a pulse and finding no obvious wounds or blood spillage, Opie had left him on the floor after tucking a pillow under his head and throwing a blanket over him.

Nightfall was rapidly approaching along with a rising wind and dropping temperatures. The first order of business was to seal the gaping apertures. Opie stayed behind to start sweeping up glass and mind the injured while Mild Bill trotted out to the barn to fetch the canvas and pick up hammers and nails from the forge. When he returned they immediately got to work.

Having gathered up the glass-strewn duvet and taken it outside, Opie knelt on the bed to pound the last tack into the temporary covering. Bill said if there was enough canvas left over they could apply another layer from the outside, creating a dead space that would do even better to keep the cold at bay. Hearing Kim stirring behind him, he climbed off the bed and hunkered down next to the young man.

Kim pushed himself to a sitting position despite Opie's advice to stay put.

"What happened? Am I still alive?"

"We had us a reg'lar gunfight, boy... jes like old times! Naw, you ain't dead. Nor shot up none, near's I kin tell. Knocked yerself clean out, howsumever. What's hurtin' ya?"

"I've got a headache from hell... and something's not right with my arm."

"Lemme have a look..."

Opie undid enough buttons to pull the shirt aside, exposing a livid purple bruise extending from the front of Kim's right shoulder to his upper chest where the butt had kicked back.

Opie whistled. "Reckon that smarted a bit. You recomember _anythin'?_ "

"Glass breaking... then waking up just now..."

"That do happen... it'll come to ya. You wanna try standin' up an' goin' ta set by the far?"

"Far...?"

"The far. In the farplace. In the parlor, boy. Bill just built up a good 'un."

"Yeah... sure."

Staggering through the bedroom door with the old man's assistance, Kim experienced a nauseating flashback when he spied Jess laid out on the fainting couch—exactly the way he'd seen him almost eight weeks ago. His brain was still lagging two steps behind when Opie threw a blanket around his shoulders and parked him in a rocker.

In the kitchen, Mild Bill had just finished covering the hole in the door. The two old men held a whispered conference over their quandary. Somehow they needed to rustle up some supper. Here it was already lantern-dark and there was still livestock to be got in and fed. But somebody needed to keep watch over those two bunged up colts in the parlor! Neither one wanted the other to have to go out and do the heavy work by himself. It'd been many years since either'd been saddled with this much responsibility and they were stymied as to how best to proceed.

 **Redemption arrived** in the form of hoofbeats outside, just off the porch, and a familiar voice.

"Hello the house! Bartlett here... everything all right in there?"

Mild Bill wrenched open the kitchen door in relief. "Mister Garland... that you?" He could barely make out the outline of the neighbor from down the road apiece, two other riders and a dozen Walker hounds milling around the horses' legs.

"Sure is... got my boy Tommy here an' this other worthless specimen's my son-in-law Billy Sol Baumgartner. We was out huntin' an' heard the commotion. Anyone dead? Why're the windows closed off?"

"Mister Bartlett, you ain't gonna b'lieve what happened... an' we sure could use your help ifn you wouldn't mind comin' inside..."

Bartlett quickly dismounted, gesturing to his son to follow. "Billy Sol... you get on back home an' take the dogs with you. Tell Mother we'll be delayed for supper an' why. We'll be along soon as we can. Now then, Mister Bailey, Mister Oppenheimer... tell me all about it."

After a recitation of events and a quick status assessment washed down with half a pot of coffee, Garland Bartlett took over, detailing Opie to watch the casualties while he and Tommy tackled outside chores under Mild Bill's guidance. For all his uncouthness and rough edges, Tommy Bartlett had a gentle hand with animals and volunteered to milk Deecy, whose udder was painfully distended by that point. He was also familiar with his best friend Andy's menagerie and who got fed what. Being youngest and lightest, he scampered up the ladder to the loft to pitch down hay while the older men measured out grain. It was pushing eleven o'clock by the time they extinguished the last lantern in the barn. They were trooping back toward the house just as the spring wagon came jouncing into the yard.

 **Contrary to expectations,** Slim did _not_ spontaneously combust upon being apprised of the firefight. After surveying the damage to the premises, he merely sighed and hunched his shoulders. Though dispirited and exhausted, he rallied enough to display concern over Jess' injury... and relief that it wasn't another bullet wound. Somehow Kim's injury, not openly visible, was overlooked in the somewhat confused recounting by Mild Bill and Opie. Bartlett had no clarification to contribute as he hadn't been present during the action. The two oldsters helped unload the wagon and put up the team before stumping off to their campwagon. Slim thanked Bartlett for his assistance and father and son went home.

Jonesy and Andy were practically asleep on their feet. Slim chivvied them off to bed before turning to assist Jess into their bedroom. Kim had already disappeared into the bunkroom. Tumbling into bed himself, Slim was out in seconds.

Altogether an undistinguished ending to a climactic day.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16_ _ **—**_ **SECRETS AND REVELATIONS**

" _ **There are no secrets that time does not reveal."**_ _(Jean Racine)_

 **Coming down for breakfast** that morning, Young Doc'd found his wife bathing Sally's adopted daughter. Upon inquiry as to his sister's whereabouts, Pearl said she'd gone out to the Sherman ranch the previous morning and was going to stay for a few days until Slim got back from Cheyenne. She'd left the children with Martha Jackson, but the latter had asked Pearl to mind the baby while she did her marketing.

"In the meantime, Mister Jones and Andy Sherman are staying at Sally's and Jacob's with them today. Sit down and eat your breakfast before it gets cold." Pearl dried, diapered and swaddled the child, then sat in the kitchen rocker to give her a bottle. "Incidentally, she took Carrie Compton with her... in _mufti._ "

"Who?"

"The girl Aunt Emmaline set up in Miss McAvoy's old dressmaking shop on Pine Street. Excellent seamstress, so I hear."

"Why on earth would she take that woman out to the ranch?" Young Doc mused.

"Not our business. But I rather doubt it's to measure Jess Harper for a new frock," Pearl quipped. "She used to work at Irish Lily's, you know. She was his favorite. The poor boy must be in dire straits by now."

Young Doc choked on his scrambled eggs. "How is it you know all this, my dear?"

"My darling Fred, you forget... I'm a _woman_. And, in case you hadn't noticed, a _Chinese_ woman. We know _everything._ By the way, Papa wants you to come by this afternoon if you can spare the time."

"Do you know what he wants?"

Pearl rolled her eyes. "What did I just say, Fred? Honestly, you never pay attention. My brother telegraphed ahead. He's arriving on the morning train. Evidently he's got the information you wanted about that _hapa haole_ boy staying at the Sherman's."

 **Pearl's brother Poot** (Lee Wing's number two son whose Anglicized name meant 'Silent Wind' in Cantonese... hence the nickname) was leisurely breakfasting in his private compartment while summarizing notes for his father regarding the results of his business trip to the City by the Bay. With clear weather and no obstructions on the line between Sacramento and Laramie the train was running ahead of schedule. Poot's official business on his father's behalf had been concluded swiftly (why indulge in protracted negotiations when bribery and threats suffice?) leaving ample time to pursue his secondary commission.

Supplemental to the sketch of Kim Kahále's tattoo, Poot had also been armed with an accurate likeness of its wearer rendered from memory by his artist friend Lucky Giancomo. These weren't revealed to just anybody—only to absolutely trustworthy individuals solidly within the Wing camp. Touching base with associates within the white worlds of law enforcement and business (legitimate and otherwise) and nosing around Chinatown, checking in with various underworld affiliates, Poot had unearthed a fair amount of conjectures as well as several substantial leads.

These monthly sojourns were always concluded with a duty call at the palatial home of his elderly paternal great-aunt Madam Chen Ling JingJing (née Wing). Madame Chen had once occupied a unique position as the only female leader of a major tong, having smoothly insinuated herself into her husband's kingpinly shoes as he'd been slowly surrendering to oldtimer's disease. As her surnames implied (Ling = intelligent and clever, and JingJing = bright and crystal clear), Auntie JingJing possessed a razor-sharp mind and a keen interest in current affairs... everyone's affairs. Though presently retired, not a shred of news flitting through the Chinese demimonde got past her batlike ears.

Formalities observed, après dinner tea ceremoniously dispensed and maidservant discreetly retired to a corner of the sun parlor, Poot casually inquired as to whether there were any entertaining bits of gossip he could convey to his honorable parents for their delectation. Auntie JingJing settled in for a good long chinwag.

The highlight of that month's accumulation of intel was a delicious scandal brewing over in the Sandwich Islands that had only recently been brought to light. The scuttlebutt was that seven prominent and obscenely wealthy houses—interrelated through marriage and interlocked in a global business consortium—were at odds over the untimely death of one of their captains of industry. Although Auntie JingJing wouldn't normally concern herself with round-eye peccadilloes, one of the families involved was predominantly House of Chen (into which she'd married) which had collateral ties to House of Wing, which therefore made it her business.

As the decedent had been a heavyweight in the families' entwined hierarchies, his demise had made news on both sides of the Pacific. The official pronouncement had been assassination by a person or persons unknown. Investigations to follow, etc. What was decidedly odd was that—although the families' allegiances had split into two camps, four against three—all seven families had closed ranks against the outside world concerning the reason for this alleged assassination... and the exact manner of execution. To date no individual or organization had claimed responsibility and no direct accusations had been leveled. The affair had almost been successfully swept under the rug... until rumors started surfacing...

Unofficially, it was said that the deceased had been dispatched in a particularly gruesome and brutal manner by a member of one of the other six families, who'd then fled or been spirited away from the Islands. The partially-substantiated facts were: That the family of the decedent was intent on exacting revenge the old-fashioned way—by funding mercenaries to apprehend the alleged perpetrator. That the family of the alleged perpetrator had purportedly hired their own operatives to counteract the hitmen while conducting their own search-and-rescue mission. That the trail had led to San Francisco and from there to Seattle. That the back alleys of both cities were teeming with agents tripping over one another. That the stupendous monetary rewards on offer from both sides were attracting notice from all the criminal communities—triad, yakuza and Anglo—and disrupting normal gang warfare activities.

What made it all so frustrating, according to Auntie JingJing, is that no one had much to go on—not even a name—and only the vaguest of physical descriptions because the deprived family dared not point a finger. There was much speculation and innuendo that by unveiling the killer a dark family secret would be exposed to the world. No one even knew for sure to which of the four defensive families the alleged perpetrator belonged.

Auntie JingJing mused, "I was toying with the idea of throwing in a couple of my own minions just for the fun of it... and money's money, after all... if there's any to be had. But honestly, I'm beginning to believe this entire brouhaha is nothing more than an elaborate hoax concocted for the sole purpose of annoying me!"

Some sixth sense warned Poot that this might not be the moment to confide his father's interest in the mystery man at the Sherman's household, so he chose to keep confidential Lucky's artistic renderings... and the posters, although most likely these had already come to the lady's attention. Kinship had been known to be overshadowed by his honorable auntie's avarice.

Auntie JingJing personally accompanied her great-nephew to the front door, waving him off to his waiting hackney cab. Turning to her butler and chief of household security, Madame Chen issued instructions to have the man followed... all the way back to Laramie, adding that she expected daily telegraphed reports on his movements for at least a week. And... oh yes... if the shadow could get his hands on those two drawings Poot had been flashing around town but neglected to show her, that would be just splendid... as would be the bonus for doing so.

So Poot was returning home considerably wiser than when he'd left... and with a sackload of dots for his honorable father to connect.

 **In the house of Wing Chen Li** and unaware of the drama unfolding at the Sherman ranch, Young Doc deposited himself in his favorite chair, remaining politely silent other than to murmur thanks to the young maid who with ritual grace poured their tea and brandies and decorously withdrew. Lee offered the cigar box and both men lit up with pleasure.

"Cuban cigars," he stated. "Can't beat 'em." He went on to ramble leisurely on several unrelated topics before sensing that his son-in-law was approaching the limits of his patience. ( _Gweilohs! No sense of the formalities!)_ From a stack on a side table, Lee procured a beige pasteboard folder secured with red silk ribbon.

"You will be pleased to know my inquiries have yielded interesting results."

"Poot found something this trip?" (The previous month's gleanings had proved disappointing.)

"Oh my yes... although I do have _other_ avenues of intelligence gathering, Fred. Some less savory than others. There is very little information which cannot be obtained for a price... or the right inducement."

"Sad but true," Young Doc agreed. "What've you got there?"

"Your young desperado's _curriculum vitae_... never mind where I got it. Ah... almost forgot, you don't read ideograms, do you? Allow me to read it to you, then..."

" _Kimball Chen Camerata, aka Kim Kahále, born 18 February 1844, Lahaina, Maui... natural son of Bernard Kimball Camerata and Anel Lilianna Michelin. Graduated with honors, Lahainaluna School 1860, and magna cum laude, Oahu College 1864. Postgraduate studies at Melbourne University School of Engineering. Holds degree in hydrology engineering. Married Maria-Ysabel Consuelo de los Reyes y Santiago 25 December 1860... three children. Four additional children by consort, Pélé Ailani Kalākaua…"_

"Seven?!" Young Doc choked on his tea.

"Seven... all girls. Quite the overachiever, your boy. _Holds clear title to one-thousand-acre sugar cane plantation and five-hundred-acre coffee plantation on Maui. Also, two hundred acres in an experimental pineapple plantation on the big island of Hawai'i. Stands to inherit another two thousand acres on Oahu_ —cattle, I believe, if he lives long enough... and contingent on producing a male heir. Some various other inconsequential bits and pieces of real estate."

Young Doc considered this. "Indisputable, then, that our Kim and this person are one and the same. Doesn't necessarily mean he's a murderer."

"Oh, I'm not done yet!" Lee chuckled, exuding a perfect smoke ring. "There's more... the victim was Fermin José de los Reyes—chairman of Reyes & Santiago Trading Company out of Manila."

Young Doc got the connection instantly. "Ysabel and Kim. You knew this Vermin?"

Lee snickered. "Fermin. Never met him personally but his ruthlessness is... _was..._ legend in the import-export business in the Philippines. His ambition was to cement a profitable relationship with Hawai'an ship and plantation owners. To this end he engineered a marriage between a daughter of his house and a son within the Chen  & Camerata conglomerate."

"And they are?"

"House of Chen runs an enormous fleet of cargo vessels. The Cameratas are planters and refinery owners."

"I see."

"Rumor has it that there was no love lost between Reyes and his son-in-law... or between husband and wife, for that matter. The confrontations grew more bitter and frequent as years passed and young Kahále attained his majority."

"You know these things how?"

"Unhappy low-echelon servants in an unsettled household are easily persuaded to give up its secrets when the _heung yau_ is lavish."

"Ah yes... 'fragrant grease'," the doctor recalled. "Please... go on."

"On the day the man died, Kahále disappeared and hasn't been seen or heard from since. His family claims that he'd already sailed for South America on a business trip _before_ the incident. The rest is unsubstantiated below-stairs rumors that wouldn't stand up in a court of law."

"Wouldn't there'd be a paper trail to follow, if he were actually on an overseas voyage?" Young Doc asked. "Ship manifests and the like?"

Lee shrugged. "As no charges have been brought, the family hasn't been required to provide any proof of their scion's whereabouts. In the same time period, eleven of their other adult males were absent from the Islands for one reason or another. Seven of those were involved in business dealings with and/or related by marriage to either the de los Reyes or one of their associated families. The whereabouts at the time of the murder of all but three have been verified... Kim Kahále and two of his cousins, Alexander Chen and Kelly Chen Kimball. It's been confirmed that all the male Chen cousins wear the dragon symbol on their backs."

Young Doc shifted in his chair, frowning. "This is well beyond coincidence, all right... and Kim _did_ admit to a killing but declined to say why... except to Sally, and she's not talking. Perhaps it was accidental. The question remains, what should _we_ do about it? I mean, legally aren't we're obliged to turn him in?"

"To whom?" Lee inquired with lifted eyebrow. "As far as I know we have no laws of reciprocity with the Kingdom of Hawai'i."

"This just doesn't make sense.," Young Doc blurted. "How on earth do they expect to catch him if they can't advertise any identification?"

"According to other intelligence, they are reluctant to publicize the details due to some naughty family secret they dare not risk having exposed in the tabloids. Bad for business, you know."

"I'd still like to know what happened and why."

Lee shrugged. "Anyone can be driven to homicide with the right incentive, Fred. It could have been self-defense or a crime of passion... or, as you say, an accident. I would venture to say Father Flynn might be privy to that information. I understand the young man is of the Catholic faith. It has come to my attention that the two engaged in an extended private interlude. However, it will be a frigid day in purgatory before Sean divulges anything he learns in confession. He has his weaknesses but he is, first and foremost, a dedicated priest. Lychee might know, but there again, he observes strict attorney-client privilege. As long as he continues to discharge his duties on my behalf with his usual excellent competence, I have no cause to interfere with his private affairs."

"I'm completely out of my depth here, Lee," Young Doc admitted. "What is your counsel?"

Lee scratched an ear, giving a sly smile. "The first question in any investigation... who profits? You might remind Mister Sherman that he could benefit immensely by surrendering Kahále to the highest bidder. Even dead he's still worth a fortune."

Young Doc stiffened, feeling his face go red, trying to maintain his composure. "Slim would never countenance that! It's the same deal as with Jess Harper... while they're under Slim's roof, they're under his protection!"

"Oh, I absolutely agree... I do have _some_ morals, scruples and ethics, Fred. All the same, it needed to be brought up for consideration. After all, think what Sherman could do with that much money! He could pay off the mortgage on that ranch of his."

"I _know_ the man—he'd never put monetary gain above honor!"

"Calm yourself, Freddy... I just wanted you to think about that... and the fact that there are people around here who'd sell their own grandmothers for a fraction of the price."

"Getting back to the matter at hand... what do we do with this information. Wait-and-see? Share what I've just learned with Slim... or keep it between us?"

"The latter, I should think. But before you get too comfortable with that, I'd like to add just one more factor for your consideration..."

"Which is?"

"You seem to have overlooked one tiny little aspect of this affair, Fred. If Kahále is indeed the perpetrator, that means he is _capable_ of killing... that he is a murderer. Good company for your tame gunslinger, yes?"

Young Doc mulled this over in silence for a few minutes. "I guess I'll have to take it on faith that he must've had a good reason for doing whatever they say he did. But I have to say, Lee, that doesn't settle my nerves any."

"I had occasion to breakfast with Sheriff Corey this morning. He intended to ride out to the Sherman's today but there's quite a number of suspicious strangers lurking about... mainly of the Oriental persuasion. He senses some unrest in the near future."

"Oh? I'm confident he's capable of staving off any trouble."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"I'll be going out to the ranch on Saturday. Harper's cast is due to come off. I'll be there all afternoon." Young Doc pulled out his pocket watch. "I'd better get back to the clinic. I'll drop in on Mort on the way..." He hesitated. "Pearl said my sister drove out to Sherman's Monday morning with a... uh... a friend..."

"Ah yes... the good-time girl turned seamstress. Quite skilled, according to my wife and consorts. She was here that morning doing fittings..."

Young Doc grinned, shaking his head. "You've got more eyes than a spider, Lee."

Both men stood up and shook hands.

"You might impress on our honorable sheriff that his strangers are likely targeting the Sherman's guest. He represents a great deal of money to whoever finds him first and takes him back alive. That doesn't mean unscathed... it just means they won't kill him... but they might not hesitate to kill anyone else who gets in their way. And there are others who are willing to settle for the lesser fee upon proof of death. In any case, my offer to provide protection still stands. I can have guards out there tonight—highly trained in counterattack measures."

"No offense, Lee... but is there any possibility the leak that enabled these hunters to trace Kim's whereabouts might have come from within your own household?"

"One cannot discount it. I shall certainly be looking into that."

Young Doc nodded toward the table holding the stack of folders. "Should those dossiers concern me?" he asked lightly.

Lee chortled. "Not unless you wish to peruse Mister Harper's colorful history. He's led a most eventful life in a variety of occupations prior to his current one. You're welcome to read it if you like."

Young Doc shuddered. "No thanks. I know far too much about him already."

"Well, keep me apprised," Lee said, escorting his son-in-law to the front door. "This has been far more entertaining than anything in the local newspaper."


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17_ _ **—**_ **EXPECTATIONS**

" _ **It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, it is because**_

 _ **we do not dare that they are difficult."**_ _(Lucius Annaeus Seneca)_

 **Wednesday, November 23rd...** Dawn found the residents slumbering well past their usual wake up time as no daylight penetrated the heavy canvas curtains. Slim awoke to a frigid room and the realization that he'd have to do something about replacing the window glass... which meant another trip to town. Hopefully Morris Dedwylder the glazier had pre-cut panes in stock, or could be persuaded to cut some while Slim waited. For two cents he'd just pull the covers over his head...

Slim'd gotten very little sleep the night before leaving Cheyenne, having been caught up in a poker game lasting into the wee hours. Too much liquor and too many cigars at the Cheyenne Social Club with his old friends had taken their toll. Too depressed to take advantage of their offer of one of their lovelies for the night, on the house, he'd opted for bed only. The next day he'd spent fruitlessly pursuing enlightenment in the matter of the mysterious bank account and unexpected addition to his herd.

The manager of Stockmen's Bank resolutely refused to disclose any information other than deposits and transfers were made at irregular intervals by a gentleman by the name of Jonathan Doe, agent and signatory. Yes, the account had been opened for Mister Sherman _in absentia_ by Mister Doe. No, there was no error—the account was registered to Matthew Sherman of Laramie, Albany County. No, there was no way of ascertaining where the money originated or where it went. Deposits came in the form of cashier's checks drawn on the Hibernian Savings  & Loan Society, San Francisco. Transfers were wired to Citizens Bank & Trust, Laramie. None of the tellers could give an accurate description of this Mister Doe. Mister Sherman was welcome to view the transaction register if he wished. Did he wish to close the account? No? Well then...

Slim fared no better after a two-hour ride on a rented nag to the sprawling Canby ranch. The head honcho remembered the purchase well enough because it had been initiated through mail and telegram—most unusual. Unfortunately, he'd been absent the day Mister Sherman's agent, John Smith, arrived to make a selection from among their young bulls for sale. The underforeman who'd handled the paperwork and received the check from Mister Smith had given his notice the following day... "Nice young feller from Virginia... movin' on to Medicine Bow to run a start-up operation for some judge..." No description of John Smith was available.

A colossal waste of time and a completely useless journey! With all this weighing on his mind, and on top of that the shambles of his home, Slim groaned inwardly and forced himself out of bed.

 **Of necessity,** Slim's cold day began with a trip back to town directly after breakfast. Leaving his order for replacement window panes at Dedwylder Hardware, he sought out Mort Corey at the sheriff's office to file a report.

"You got a few minutes?" Mort inquired. "We need to have us a talk anyway..."

"Dedwylder said he'd have my order ready in two hours, give or take."

"Then let's go over to Abigail's and get some decent coffee. My new deputy can hold the fort for a while, can't you, Emmett?"

"Sure thing, Mister Corey."

Between the breakfast and lunch rushes, the café wasn't busy and they snagged a table near the bay window. Slim explained what'd happened at the ranch the previous evening, which naturally entailed admitting Kim's presence. Mort in return related his conversation with Lee Wing the previous morning.

"I'm not gonna chew you out for lying to me, Slim. I know he's the golden goose in those wanted posters. No use denying it," the sheriff spoke gravely. "I expect Miss Emmaline found a way to cover up that mark on his back so I wouldn't see it. What I _don't_ know is _why_... why you're letting him stay when you gotta know how dangerous it is for you and yours. Decent citizens are getting nervous, making complaints about the unusual number of undesirables lurking around... especially all those foreigners."

"What foreigners?"

"Orientals... and not railroad workers, either. I've seen men like these before in San Francisco... in Chinatown. They're gangsters and hoodlums and I don't know what all!"

"First I've heard, Mort. What kind of trouble are they causing?"

"None yet. They're real polite, always bowing and scraping... but sniffing around and asking too many questions. I'm pretty sure they're closing in on the target. Something has to be done before there's bloodshed. I've got only one deputy and four cells. I need to know what's going on..."

Slim sighed. The entire narrative took some forty-five minutes, with Slim unspooling events in an unhurried monotone and Mort nodding in response. At the end Mort was shaking his head. "There's no other way to say this, Slim... I'd be happier with that boy out of my town. He's a liability we don't need."

"Technically, he's not _in_ your town," Slim pointed out.

"My jurisdiction, then... out of the county. He leaves, the criminal element goes with him."

"What do you expect me to do, Mort?" Slim demanded in exasperation.

"You took him on... he's your responsibility, just like Jess was when he first got here. Can't you just pack him off to Cheyenne or someplace so's he'll be someone else's problem?"

"I could... but right now I need him..." Slim launched into another explanation of _why_ he needed him.

Mort was astonished. "You've got him teaching Andy? Have you lost your everlovin' mind?"

They stood up to leave but Mort had another thought. "About those two men who shot up your place... you sure it was Vester Maddox and Huey Longfish?"

"Jess is. I didn't see 'em myself."

"I don't suppose he can come in and make a formal identification?"

"No, not yet."

"Well... they're still in town. I'll round 'em up and stick 'em in the pokey but I'll need a signed statement in writing from Jess to keep 'em there until a hearing. Wouldn't count on any financial restitution, though."

"I'm not."

They shook hands and parted company.

 **Slim's next stop** was Young Doc's clinic, which _was_ busy.

"I can give you five minute, Slim... so make it quick."

After Slim's recitation, Young Doc nodded his head in agreement at Jonesy's assessment that the injuries were relatively minor and his attention wasn't needed.

"As you can see, I'm up to my armpits in patients today... but I'll be up there Saturday anyway. If there're any turns for the worse, send word with Mose."

"I'll see you then. Is Sally in the forge today?"

"I believe she's helping Pearl get ready for tomorrow..."

"Why? What happens tomorrow?"

"Have you forgotten it's Thanksgiving?"

"Oh. Yes. I had... maybe I'll just duck in and say hello."

Young Doc got an odd look on his face. "Do me a favor? Don't mention anything about what happened yesterday... she'll want to drop everything and go running to see if he... if _they_... are all right... and she needs a break from... that is, you'll be seeing her Saturday and that's soon enough."

"I guess I won't bother her, then."

"That would best."

 **Slim made a few more stops** before returning to the hardware store to pick up his order. Then there was the cold drive home and colder hours spent prying out remnants of old panes, installing and puttying the replacements... no time or patience for describing the results (or lack thereof) of his trip to Cheyenne.

Jess' self-assigned task for the day was cleaning every weapon that had been fired the day before, including the two rifles that'd been dropped in the road by the attackers. To that end he'd installed himself at the parlor table with solvent, lube oil, and an assortment of tools. Jonesy'd supplied a stack of patches cut from old pillowcases. When it came to firearms, Jess' mantra was that cleanliness was next to longevity. Even the tiniest amount of fouling could cause jamming or binding... and an unreliable weapon could get you killed.

As it was too good an educational opportunity to pass up, Jess'd conscripted Andy's assistance and had him sitting to his left. He would have liked to include Kim but the latter was under the weather, according to Jonesy. After two hours Andy excused himself to the other end of the table and buried his nose in textbooks. He wasn't that interested in guns to begin with and had endured the short course in their maintenance only to keep Jess company. Jonesy kept himself busy in the kitchen when he wasn't napping in his rocker by the fireplace. Mild Bill and Opie stayed well away from the house—and Slim—except for supper.

Said meal was consumed in an inauspicious atmosphere... as if everyone feared that at the slightest provocation the lord of the manor was apt to burst into a pyrotechnic display worthy of a Chinese New Year's celebration—a complete reversal of the prior week in which Jess had been the featured stick of dynamite wanting only a lit fuse.

It wasn't until after dinner that it seeped into Slim's overworked brain that he hadn't seen Kim at all and he finally thought to ask.

"Down with the megrims all day—one a them sick headaches like my Elizabeth used to get. Nothin' for it but keep to bed in a dark room 'til it lifts."

"How long does this sick headache last?"

"Hard to say... two, three days sometimes. 'Nother coupla days gettin' over it."

"Should we get Young Doc to come out and see to him?"

Jonesy shook his head. "Nothin' he can do for it that I can't do. Best just leave 'im alone, look in every now and then. Try to keep the noise down."

Slim started to stand up. "I should check, just in case..."

"He was still sleepin' when I looked in not ten minutes ago."

 **Hearing the door snick shut,** Kim'd forced himself to turn away from the wall and sit up long enough to take a few mouthfuls of tepid water, once he managed to locate the glass without sweeping it off the nightstand in the dark. Rolling onto his back, he closed his eyes against the unseeable view of the underside of the upper bunk. He hadn't suffered an attack this acute since the night of the killing...

 _The fight had taken place in one of the arched galleries surrounding an interior courtyard at the de los Reyes compound, where Kim had gone to confront his father-in-law. It was bad enough that everyone turned a blind eye to the old man's filthy perversions with the children of house servants and field workers. But when it appeared Don Fermin was turning his interest to his own granddaughters, Kim could no longer ignore the threat. He'd delivered an ultimatum, threatening dire consequences should Don Fermin ever again approach one of Kim's children or set foot on any of his properties. The old reprobate had laughed at him, said he lacked the balls to enforce that edict and that he'd see Kim dead first._

 _As Kim had turned to leave, Don Fermin had leaped from his seat and slashed his back with the cane knife. They'd grappled and rolled on the ground, leaving great smears of blood on the imported Moorish tiles. Kim knew he was fighting for his life against a taller, much heavier opponent. Somehow he got control of the weapon... and then... there was the old man, lying on the ground with disbelieving eyes, gut slit open from sternum to groin, glistening intestines writhing everywhere. Death would come soon... but not soon enough._

 _Two servants who'd been hovering in the shadows rushed forward. Instead of going to their master's aid, they dragged Kim away, down into the maze of subterranean passageways the servants used to go about their business invisibly. As it'd been siesta time, no one else was around to hear the screams or raise an alarm... or so they said. The body wasn't 'discovered' until much later that evening. By then, under cover of darkness and hidden in a donkey cart, Kim's unconscious body had been spirited away by the original two servants. Many other willing hands had scrubbed away the blood trail. No one had seen anything._

 _Two weeks later, rising like Lazarus from the delirium of fever and the disablement of migraine, Kim had found himself onboard a cargo schooner headed for San Francisco. His cousins Kelly and Alex, disguised as deckhands, had been detailed to accompany him. Only those two and the ship's doctor were allowed in his cabin while he recuperated. The vessel itself wasn't Chen-owned and its captain and officers were all relatives of Kim's stepfather, Keanu Kahále, a smuggler of no little renown. Secrecy was assured._

 _Kim's mother'd established the communications link and Keanu'd provided evasion strategies and suggested escape routes. As an added bonus, Kelly-—Kim's usual team partner on the polo field—had abducted from the de los Reyes stables Kim's favorite pony, which was ensconced in the forward hold along with eleven other stolen horses. Upon debarkation two weeks after that, the boys'd split up and Kim and Scooter had headed north._

Lying there in the dark, unable to return to sleep, Kim pondered on the long way he'd come since then. All that time without a migraine and now this. But he'd survived, hadn't he? Lady Luck had been with him the better part of a year. No reason to expect she'd turn away now... but... his head throbbed, his bones ached, his eyeballs hurt and his belly was in knots.

 **Thursday dawned bright and bone-cracking cold...** Thanksgiving had always been a festive occasion in the Sherman household until four years ago: Mary Grace had expired on that day. Since then, the existence of the holiday barely merited a feeble acknowledgment. This year would be different... not due to rekindled interest on Slim's or Jonesy's or Andy's parts, but because the head count had now expanded from three to seven.

At breakfast, Bill and Opie'd proudly presented a plump young wild turkey hen they'd bagged the day before... gutted, plucked and ready to go in the oven. By lunchtime a representative from each of the four neighbors had dropped by with holiday offerings ranging from pies and cakes to sweet potato soufflé and corn-and-oyster casserole. There was no excuse not to enjoy a traditional meal, Jonesy exclaimed, especially considering all he had to cook was the bird, dressing and yeast rolls. Jugs of apple cider were dusted off and brought up from the root cellar.

The problem of where and how to seat the seventh diner solved itself when it became apparent Kim wouldn't be participating. Slim was feeling guilty about that until Andy pointed out that, not being an American, Kim most likely didn't recognize the holiday anyway. For a short time, at least, Slim allowed the burden of command to slide off his shoulders. Not having experienced many family feasts of this sort, Jess, too, put aside his exasperation with life in general and ate until he foundered. The two old men, who'd never married, nonetheless cherished fond memories of family events back in their respective childhoods. Andy recalled the Thanksgiving dinners over which his mother'd presided... and this one was almost as good as having her back! Jonesy was thankful that—if just this one night—peace reigned in the house.

 **Friday brought a return to routine...** Kim made an appearance after the chore detail had finished breakfast and gone outside.

"Son, you look like death on a soda cracker and that's a fact," Jonesy observed. "Why don't you stay in the bed 'til you're feelin' better?"

"I'm not dying, Jonesy. It's just a headache."

"You should eat somethin'. How 'bout some chicken broth an' toast? My wife useta get the sick headaches an' that was all she could keep down."

"That sounds good. Thanks."

"You sit down an' keep still. I'll fix it for you."


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18 —_ **GREAT DAY IN THE MORNING**

" _ **The difference between a physiotherapist and**_

 _ **a terrorist is that you can deal with a terrorist."**_ _(Unattributed)_

 **Saturday, November 26th...** Everyone—including Jess—had forgot this was the day his cast was scheduled to come off. Young Doc's black Amish buggy sailed smartly into the yard. Doctor and sister disembarked to extract various bags and crates from the tiny cargo space and carry them into the house.

Sitting at one end of the parlor table across from Andy, Jess looked up in surprise... an ear-to-ear grin spreading across his face.

"Is it TODAY? For real?"

Young Doc beamed. "It is indeed. You ready?"

"Does a one-legged duck swim in circles? Damn straight I'm ready!"

"Let's get to it, then... Jonesy?!"

Jonesy shuffled around the corner, looking apprehensive. "This gonna make another mess? Just got the house cleaned up."

"Sorry about that and yes, there'll be some mess. I'll be requiring hot water, soap and towels." Doc went on to list his other needs.

"Jess, I'll need you to be sitting comfortably for a while, with that leg up on something solid and stable. One of the rocking chairs would probably be best, wedged so it doesn't rock... and your foot on the ottoman so it won't wobble. If you gotta go, go now..."

Jess colored a little, what with Sally being in the room, but dutifully rolled off toward the passage to the washroom. Waiting for him to return, she glanced around. "Where's Slim? Doesn't he want to be in on this? Shouldn't Andy go fetch him?"

Jonesy was shaking his head. "He's in the barn. Leave him be. He knows you're here an' he'll be along if he feels like it."

"And where's Kim? Fred didn't tell me what happened until we were on the road. I could wring his neck."

"Doin' better,' Jonesy acknowledged. "Was up some yesterday. He's sleepin' in this morning."

Young Doc was trying to look appropriately contrite but, detecting the anxiety in his sister's voice, concluded he'd been right in keeping Kim's condition from her. "Has he eaten anything at all?"

"A little broth and some toast."

"I'd better have a look." Young Doc walked briskly around the table and into the passageway, easing open the door to the bunkroom, going in and closing it behind himself just before Jess rolled back into the room.

" _Now_ where'd he go?"

"Checking on Kim. Let's get you moved over into the rocker..."

With that accomplished, she went to stand outside the bunkroom door in the passageway, the better to intercept her brother privately. The fact that she could hear two muffled voices was reassuring.

"Well?" she demanded in a whisper when Young Doc emerged.

"Apparently he's been subject to migraines since childhood. Doesn't know what brought this one on. Could be concussion... there's a fair sized knot but the scalp is intact."

"Concussion?" Sally yipped. "Why didn't you say? Why didn't you come earlier?"

"Pipe down! I didn't know about it until just now. Slim didn't say..."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"About the headache, no. The worst is over. He's a little dehydrated but that won't kill him. He'll be up in a little while."

Young Doc was disturbed by his sister's distress. _Whatever she feels for this man, it can only end in tears. But how does one advise an older sister who's always danced to her own orchestra?_

"Sally..."

"What?"

"Don't get yourself in too deep." _That's the best you can do?_

"I know what I'm doing."

"That's debatable... but this isn't the time. We have work to do. I hope you can give us your full attention."

"I can."

"Then let's get started."

 **Everything was in position,** Jess in his now familiar state of semi-decency in cutoff underdrawers with a towel over his lap.

"Before we get started," Young Doc intoned, "there's a couple of things you need to understand."

"Yeah. Yeah. Can you just get on with it... please?"

"It's gonna take a while for everything to get back to normal. Just because the cast comes off this morning doesn't mean you can jump in the saddle this afternoon."

"But you said..."

"You're to stay in the house for at least the first week and do these exercises I've written down. It's called physical therapy. Some you can do for yourself and some you'll need help doing. I want you to start using the crutches and keep on using them for a few weeks until you can flex your knee and ankle without pain and put your foot flat on the floor."

"Aw... Doc!"

"I mean it! I want your word on this or else that cast stays on until I say it goes... or you can figure out a way to get it off by yourself. So... do I have it?"

"Guess I ain't got a choice..."

"Say it..."

"All right. I promise."

"Great. Let's go... Sally, bring the instruments, please."

Young Doc and Sally were seated on straightback chairs on either side of Jess leg, with Jonesy and Andy comprising the audience. The tray of instruments included a short-handled saw with an odd half-moon blade sporting recurved teeth, what looked like a butter knife with a serrated edge, angled scissors, tin snips and another mysterious device which turned out to be a 'cast spreader.'

The cast needed support due to the angle at the knee joint. Firmly anchoring the ankle portion with one hand, Sally pincered the top portion between thumb and three fingers inserted between skin and plaster above the knee. Jess gave silent thanks those fingers were on the outside of his lower thigh.

Young Doc, further steadying the cast with one hand, gripped the saw and began rasping from the top just outside the knee. The patient held his breath and broke out in a sweat. What if the doctor sawed too deeply and too vigorously? He wasn't the only one worried... Andy broke the awed hush by asking that very question barely above a whisper.

Without disturbing his concentration, Young Doc explained how he was being careful to make shallow cuts in minute increments, and that he would be able to tell by the lack of resistance when he'd penetrated the hard outer layer. At that point the saw's teeth would start producing wisps of the cotton batting protecting the skin of Jess' leg from the hardened plaster itself.

The minutes seemed to crawl by as Young Doc completed the slit on one side and started a second on the other side, accompanied by running commentary.

"This cut doesn't need to be as deep as the first one... just thin enough so it will serve as a hinge. I want to keep the cast as much intact as possible in case it has to go back on…"

" _Whaaaat?"_ Jess bleated.

"Just kidding."

Jess was momentarily distracted by the fact that Sally had changed sides, so that now those three fingers of the opposite hand were in close proximity to... well... too close! In other circumstances and without an audience he might not have minded where those fingers went.

 _You jackass! How can you be thinkin' a somethin' like that at a time like this? What if her hand slips? An' what if... you just can't help yourself...?_

 **With the sawing phase completed** to Young Doc's satisfaction, he reached for the tin snips to cut through the layered linen on the inside seam. If anyone was expecting the cast to pop open like a clamshell, they were disappointed. Next, Doc moved the cast spreader along the inside seam, widening the slit to a crack until the top half of the cast could be easily separated from the bottom, exposing the now yellowed layer of cotton batting. Doc gently lifted Jess' leg from its chrysalis, waited as Sally pulled aside the empty casing, then repositioned his heel on the ottoman.

Once again the watchers paused simultaneously in their breathing, anticipating the unveiling of Jess' leg. Fred held up a hand for attention though he was addressing the patient.

"Don't be alarmed at what you see. Your leg will look like a dead fish and will smell like one, too. Your calf muscles will be somewhat atrophied and the skin will be white and probably scaly. It'll itch and you'll want to scratch it. Don't. It'll be sensitive and easily inflamed if you do. Basically, for a couple of weeks your leg's going to look like it belongs to another person. And when you start doing the exercises, you're going to wish it did. Ready?"

Jess wasn't sure whether he was or not, being preoccupied with the perplexing fact that he was unable to unlock his knee so that his leg would lay straight from hip to ottoman.

"Uh... Doc... my knee don't work. Didn't have this trouble when I broke my leg before."

"That's because you were young enough that all your bones hadn't yet completely mineralized. What you had was a green-stick fracture, meaning the bones bent but weren't displaced. Your leg was probably splinted and bound between the knee and ankle, so that air could get to it and you were able to bend the joints. This break was much more severe. I've already explained about the importance of therapy, Jess. I assure you that it's just a matter of days before you'll be flexing both knee and ankle."

"Uh... okay. I guess I'm ready."

The batting didn't come away cleanly. Sally was ready with a large sea sponge and warm soapy water in a basin to soak loose the discolored and foul-smelling material. Embarrassed by the odor, Jess felt compelled to apologize.

Sally grinned. "If I can survive blood, vomit, diarrhea and diapers, I'm sure I can overlook a little bit of stink."

Washed and gently dried off, the leg appeared every bit as bad as Young Doc had predicted and then some. It felt light and lifeless to its owner as well. When asked, Jess was able to wiggle his toes and move his entire leg from side to side. Elevating it from the ottoman required some effort and he couldn't maintain the position more than a few seconds, feeling the strain in his thigh and hip muscles. Ankle and knee remained stubbornly immobile.

"He's gonna be all right, isn't he?" Andy couldn't help querying. The fishbelly white appendage covered in matted hair and flaking skin didn't offer much promise for future mobility.

"I should think so, Andy. Let's test for neural response, shall we?" Young Doc produced a stickpin from a vest pocket and probed Jess' ankle, not too deeply.

"OW! Hey! That hurt!" He might have jerked his leg clean off the ottoman had Sally not had his thigh tucked under one arm to prevent it, reasoning that what worked for a fidgety horse would work equally well for a skittish human.

"Excellent! Relax, Jess. Close your eyes. Every time you feel a poke, say 'yes'."

From ankle to knee, the doctor got a positive response at every point. "Couldn't ask for a better result!" he exulted.

Smiles of relief crossed everyone's face bar one. First Mild Bill and then Opie had sidled into the room, followed by Mort Corey. Then Slim had sneaked in unobserved and had been steadily watching Sally during the entire procedure, marking everywhere her hands went. There was nothing sexual in her movements—this the rational part of his mind understood, but the jealous, irrational part wouldn't be denied. Look how she was sitting... with her back to Jess, sure... but her arms around his thigh, pressing it against her breast and her elbow practically in his crotch. And him clad in a vest, half a pair of drawers and a towel! Yeah... looked innocent enough. If only _they_ —everyone else!—knew!

" **Come on, boys," Slim barked.** "Work to do before the afternoon stage."

As he backed toward the door, Mild Bill and Opie reluctantly tore themselves away from the sideshow and followed. Jonesy retreated to the kitchen to put the company coffee pot on the stove. Young Doc got up, stretched and carried the tray of implements to his bag waiting on the table.

"Nothing more for me to do, Jess. Unless you do something stupid and put too much stress on that leg, I won't need to see you again until next week. In the meantime, Andy and Sally are going to help you with therapy..."

"Sally...?"

Sally had moved over to the ottoman, picking up Jess' foot and holding it on her knees with both hands. "I guess Jonesy forgot to mention it... I'm staying over for a week to get you started with those exercises. He's going to bunk in with you and Slim and Andy'll stay with Kim."

"Does Slim know about this?"

"Nah... we decided before lunch. I brought my overnight bag just in case. I was about to tell him when he hauled ass... left, I mean."

"I'd be a lot more comfortable if I... _ARRRGGGHHH... what're you doin'?!_ "

She was grasping his heel and with her other hand slowly pushing upward against his instep. "Sorry... this is exercise number one... up five times, down five times."

" _THAT HURTS LIKE HELL!"_

"No pain, no gain."

Jess was breathing hard, wiping the heel of his hand at the moisture threatening to escape the corners of his eyes. There was _pain_... and then there was this! He'd not imagined it would hurt so much.

"I sure hope that's it for today..." His voice sounded faint even to himself.

"Not hardly... but you can have a break while we find something for you to wear that's a little less... um... revealing?" With a deadpan expression Sally nodded meaningfully toward the towel which was clinging to Jess' lap by a prayer. "Do you have any shorts?"

"Shorts?"

"Yeah... you know... britches cut off above the knee... like for swimming?"

"What's wrong with reg'lar britches?"

"Therapy includes deep tissue massage in between exercises. Skin to skin. My hands. Your leg. Can't do it through material."

"It ain't proper, you doin' it..." Jess objected, nervously bunching up the towel in his lap before it could make a break for it again. "Why can't Jonesy or someone...?"

"I'm your designated physical therapist. Period. Like it or lump it."

"But..."

"No buts." Sally held up both hands, fingers spread wide. "Think I don't know what you've said about these hands? That they belong on a muleskinner? Or that I'm big enough to wrassle a bear in a sideshow? Well... guess what? These hands are going to coax your joints and muscles into working again. But only with your cooperation, Jess. Unless, of course, you prefer being a cripple the rest of your life. Am I being clear enough for you?"

Speechless with shame and redfaced with embarrassment, Jess could only nod his acknowledgement.

"So... do you have shorts or do we need to cut down a pair of trousers?"

Jess remembered that he did—the ones he used for swimming when he wasn't going _au naturel_ —and summoned Andy to find them in the bottom drawer of the bureau he shared with Slim. Then Andy helped Jess get them on while Sally stepped out on the porch to preserve modesty.

 **Massage was a new and alien experience** for Jess—and, he was shocked to discover, an almost indecently sensual one as the slick concoction of lanolin, cocoa butter and beeswax was stroked into the dry skin. He was a little uncertain about the propinquity of Sally's hands on his thigh above the knee, but her sober demeanor reassured him that no one's dignity was being compromised.

"How come you know how to do this?" Jess commented in between involuntary grunts of pleasure.

"Massage is a lot more common in Europe and Asia, where it's considered an integral part of an overall hygiene regime... especially in gymnasiums and communal baths. And athletes the world over benefit from massage in their training regimen. People have been practicing it for five thousand years. Very popular where Peach comes from... she taught me. She was a prostitute, you know... in her younger days. One of her owners in Hong Kong had all her girls trained in massage so they'd command higher prices from foreign sailors."

"Oh." Jess couldn't think of anything to say about a whore turned cook and housekeeper. He really hadn't ever thought much about what happened to sporting gals when they got old.

Slim picked that exact moment to reenter the house to change shirts... eyeing the spectacle of Sally's hands sliding up Jess' knee and grimacing as if he'd been sucking persimmons.

"Imagine how good a whole body massage would feel," Sally commented, knowing who was behind her even with her back to the door... and feeling mischievous.

"You mean, like... _everything?"_ Jess croaked in alarm. _Good God. Surely she'ain't intendin' to..._

"Of course _everything._ If you ever get to Frisco, you should go to Chinatown and try one," Sally suggested blandly.

All big-eared at the table, hiding his face in a book, Andy had to choke back a snort as Slim stalked past them into the bedroom.

" **How are you feeling right now?"** Sally asked, with a suspiciously solicitous air.

"Real good... sorta loose all over..."

"Glad to hear it, because it's time for the next exercise..."

"What? _Noooooooooooo!"_

"Try to relax. Andy... I need your help. I want you to push down with both hands right above his knee..."

With one muleskinner paw grasping Jess' calf below the knee and the other capturing his ankle, Sally slowly but inexorably drew the leg upward.

The pain was excruciating. Jess gasped and tried to pull away but found himself trapped. Apparently he was making more noise than he thought as Slim charged out of the bedroom bare-chested, a replacement shirt still in his hands. Jonesy'd come out of the kitchen as well.

"What in hell are you doing to him?"

White-faced and convinced his leg was going to snap off at the knee, Jess pleaded with his tormentor to stop.

"It's just a little pressure, Jess. I barely moved it an inch. Man up. Four more and we're done for today," Sally insisted.

Biting down hard, Jess managed to contain the pain, emitting only deep groans."

"There. See, that wasn't so bad, was it? It'll be easier tomorrow, I promise."

Jess growled something unintelligible and swiped a shirtsleeve across his eyes.

"Slim... swap places with Andy, please. You need to learn how to do this."

"No. I don't. He's got you," Slim snapped ungraciously.

"Only for this week. He'll be needing it for some time to come."

"I'm too busy." Slim slipped on the shirt, grabbed his coat and hat and blasted out the door.

Sally and Jonesy traded questioning glances, with the latter commenting wryly, "Man's got a bug up his... er... hinders. You have any idea what about?"

"Unfortunately, I do," Sally sighed with resignation. By displaying jealousy, Slim was shattering the ground rules they'd so carefully established in order to avoid just this sort of unpleasant situation. But then, so was she... having put him off earlier when their agreement was to always be truthful if anything happened to upset the balance of their relationship. They really needed to talk.

Still focusing on his own pain, Jess missed the exchange.

"I'll do it." Kim'd slipped into the room without anyone noticing. "Andy needs to study. Show me."


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19_ _ **—**_ **CONTRETEMPS**

" _ **He that blesseth his friend with a loud voice, rising early in the morning,**_

 _ **it shall be counted a curse to him."**_ _(Proverbs 27:14 KJV)_

 **Sunday, November 27th...** Jess'd awakened a few times during the night, disoriented by the absence of weight on his leg. And what a luxury that was... being able to turn onto his side and drowse comfortably in a different position. Or would've been, had he not had to pee so urgently. Another uplifting thought... he could now, all by himself, easily reach over the side and drag the pot out from under the bed. Funny, how such small accomplishments brought such happiness when you'd been denied them for so long.

It was gonna be a good day!

Sensibly, Jess refrained from booming out a cheerful good morning to his slumbering partner. Slim rarely slept in unless he was sick or plumb tuckered out... and whenever he did, he invariably woke up in a foul mood that soured everyone else's day. Best put that off as long as possible...

Enough light filtered through the high casement window that Jess didn't need to light a candle to find his clothes and get dressed. Sally'd designed a dressing assistance tool cobbled from an old sawed-off broom handle with a long nail hammered in one end, then bent to form a hook. This he'd used last night to snag his regular longjohn bottoms over the foot of his non-bending leg and snake them up to where he could reach the waistband and pull them up. This morning it served the same purpose with a pair of denims. _Don't help much with gettin' a sock on that foot, though, or a moccasin._

With the addition of an undershirt, flannel shirt, one sock and a moc, Jess turned his attention toward making for the kitchen and surprising the heck out of whoever was on duty. Somebody was... he could smell the coffee. The wheelchair was parked nearby... but the crutches were leaning invitingly against the room partition.

Yesterday Young Doc had let him stand up for only a few minutes to get the feel of the crutches, but had forbidden their use until he refamiliarized himself with his now unfettered leg. Jess' forebrain was signaling the danger of assuming that just because he'd mastered crutches in the past, he needed no practice now (it'd been a while since his previous broken leg). His hindbrain was insisting that, yes, of course he could manage them _now_... now that the cumbersome cast was history. Hopping over to the partition, he determinedly inserted a crutch under each arm and inched his way around the foot of Slim's bed, trying to keep his one bare foot off the cold floor and not make any noise.

With some strategic maneuvering Jess managed to get through the door without stumbling, stubbing a toe or dropping a crutch. Making his way across the room to the kitchen table was a lot harder than he bargained for and—as there were spectators—his dignity was at stake.

By the time Jess reached the table he was starting to perspire and grateful to subside into the chair Sally pushed out with her foot. Jonesy plunked down a cup of coffee. For a brief moment Jess could embrace the thought that life'd returned to normal... or as normal as it ever was around here. Except for Sally's presence, of course... and Kim's... which was when it entered his mind that the last time he'd seen Kim was Tuesday afternoon. It was now Sunday.

"Hope you feel better'n you look..."

"Some." The other managed a strained grin. "Sorry I missed the grand unveiling. I know that's a relief."

"Sure is."

"Slim still asleep?" Jonesy asked.

"Yeah."

"Keep your voices down an' let's hope he stays that way for a while," Jonesy advised, returning to the stove.

The next few minutes were absorbed in hushed small talk involving inconsequential subjects, mostly between Sally and Jess. Though appearing to be focusing on cooking, Jonesy was paying close attention to the hidden undercurrents among the three... and their body language was speaking volumes.

He had a premonition that this wasn't going to be such a good day.

 **Next to roll out** was Andy in longjohns and robe, knuckling sleep from his eyes. When he saw Jess his face split in a wide grin. The little boy inside wanted to run over and throw a hug on his hero, but teenage reserve said 'not in front of a woman!' Jonesy would've understood, though.

"Good mornin' all!" That seemed like a properly adult salutation. "Are you feelin' better today, Jess?"

"Yeah... much better... I'll be back in the saddle in no time."

Jonesy brought Andy a cup of coffee without comment. Not too long ago Slim would've objected... but that was one of the battles he'd lost early on when he was too ill to impose his will. Now the boy had his morning coffee along with the rest of them... and fixed it exactly like Jess did with three heaping teaspoons of brown sugar shaved from the loaf and enough top cream that Slim'd complained they might as well bring the damned cow right into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Jonesy. How 'bout you, Kim? I didn't even hear you get up. Are we gonna study today?"

"That's the plan."

"Mister Bill and Mister Opie comin' in for breakfast, Jonesy?"

"Later... when they're done feedin' an' taking care of _other chores_ what somebody's forgot he's supposed to do _before_ breakfast..."

Andy gulped down the remainder of his coffee and slid out of his chair. "I'll get right on it." He trotted back to the bedroom to get dressed.

"You three wanna go ahead and eat or wait for the others?" What a dumb question!

 **Jess happily applied** a hearty appetite to his loaded plate. Sally matched him bacon strip for bacon strip, biscuit for biscuit, on the premise that large, healthy women required more fuel than little skinny ones. Kim made do with one biscuit.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" Sally demanded.

"It's all I _can_ eat at the moment," Kim replied curtly, "or risk throwing up."

"Eeeyew. That's more information than I needed. Jess... when we're done, go put on those shorts. We need to get started on today's exercises."

Jess' face fell at the thought of the pain to come.

"I'm really sorry to be the agent of hurt, but you've got to be brave and do this. It won't be for long, I promise." She didn't look too sorry.

All of a sudden it wasn't gonna be such a good day...

Sally reached across the table to press her hand on his. It was only an affectionate gesture of consolation with no intimacy implied... but that's not what Slim saw when he came out of the bedroom.

Sally withdrew her hand slowly, making no effort to disguise her action.

"Good morning, Matt."

"Mornin', Slim."

The twinned greeting met with no response. Slim pointedly ignored them and turned toward the front door where Andy was getting into his boots. Already fully clothed, Slim pulled on his outdoor gear and exited without a word. Without even a cup of coffee...

"What in heck's wrong with him now?" Jess asked, shoveling in another forkful of scrambled eggs.

"He's having difficulty understanding... things..." Sally said, buttering another biscuit.

"What things? You'd think he'd be happy 'cause I can get back to workin' pretty soon."

 **Jonesy owed his loyalty** to the Sherman family... to Slim above all—who'd gone directly from adolescence to warrior, cared for his momma in her final illness, and then given his heart and soul to holding this ranch together and raising his little brother to manhood. Slim... an honorable, generous man who gave unstintingly of himself to friends, neighbors and the community... who provided aid and comfort and second chances to the less fortunate... who rarely took time out to enjoy his youth. It pained Jonesy that in return all Slim got was disrespect... even if he deserved it.

Slim had absented himself from the house for the remainder of the previous day, speaking to no one and coming in long after everyone else had gone to sleep. Jonesy recognized this seldom-manifested tendency toward moody withdrawal, when things weren't going his way, as one of the less than admirable traits Slim had inherited from his father. From his mother had come the unflagging tenacity to make things right according to _her_ view of what constituted right from wrong. And when these two opposing aspects of his nature conflicted, Slim went into a sulk. There was no other word for it. When it came to a good old-fashioned sulk, the big brother could put the younger one in the shade.

Sure, Jonesy'd gone along with Sally's scheme for Jess' benefit because he, too, had believed that improving Jess' frame of mind would lessen the friction between him and Slim. Instead, matters were worse. Slim was suffering though no fault of his own and Jonesy decided it was time to set matters straight.

Strolling to the table and plunking himself down with the others, he poured his own coffee and arranged his features into a model of serious innocence.

"Does that mean you ain't leavin' us after all?"

 **In the stunned interval,** Kim looked aggrieved, Sally shocked and Jess guilty.

Sally put down her utensils with deliberation, her eyes drilling Jess. "What does he mean?"

Jess in turn trained a murderous look at Kim.

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice... I didn't tell anyone!" Kim said crossly.

"The walls have ears," Jonesy nodded sagely.

"Is it true?" Sally demanded. "You're going away?"

Jess' response was guarded. "Been thinkin' on it. Kim 'bout talked me out of it, but I reckon I was right the first time. Way Slim's been actin', he wants me gone."

"I thought we got that straightened out," Kim said.

"You couldn't be more wrong," Jonesy claimed.

" _You_ never wanted me here in the first place," Jess countered, pointing a fork at Jonesy.

"That ain't true! I admit I mighta been a little skeptical in the beginnin'... but..."

Sally's reaction was no less scathing as she slowly stood, drawing herself up to her full six feet of disgusted womanhood. "You're the biggest damned fool on the planet, Jess Harper. I should go home and let you stew in your own juice... but I won't. I promised my brother. I'm going to get dressed. You be out here in those short britches by the time I get back. Or else!"

 _Or else what? Prob'ly don't wanna know. Tear my leg off an' beat me with it?_

"Best do as she says, son..." Jonesy added, as if reading Jess' mind.

It was gonna be a terrible day...

 **Out in the barn, Slim was measuring** into nosebags equal portions of his special pre-mixed 'hot' feed. After reading up on equine nutritional needs in _American Veterinary Review_ , he'd formulated a recipe of oats, barley and corn with molasses. Unlike the ranch horses, mostly idle this time of year, the coach horses needed the extra energy for their twice-daily long-distance travels. Other station operators might skimp on grain rations to up their profits, but Slim had the personal satisfaction of knowing that the animals that passed through _his_ outfit, however briefly, got the best care he could give them.

Mild Bill and Opie were in the corral, brushing down the four horses destined for the ten o'clock coach. Slim insisted on diligence in removing any foreign matter that might be caught in the animals' heavy winter coats, anything that could turn into an irritant under the rubbing of harness leathers. Whenever Overland reps had swooped down on one of their unannounced spot inspections, they'd never—not once—found anything to merit a black mark on the Sherman Station's check sheet. Company-owned equipment was always in good repair and horses in prime condition.

While the horses enjoyed their rations, Slim helped the two old men carry out harnesses. In the feed room he did a quick inventory of grains on hand and calculated how much would have to be procured in town on Jonesy's next market run. The orphan calves apparently had adopted the bull as their new parental unit and blatted piteously when separated into their own pen while Percy ambled out to join Deecy the milk cow in the back pasture. The new guy in town had quickly adapted to the routine, needing no persuasion in exiting the barn in the morning and waiting for admittance in the evening.

Slim understood the calming effect of routine... which was why he'd hightailed it out here this morning, hoping his evil mood would somehow improve by breakfast. He knew he was being a real horse's ass about everything... but, dammit! Nothing was going his way! And now he had even more to worry about since his conversation with Mort Corey.

 **Andy came through the side door** with his two lidded pails of milk, grinning to beat the band.

"What're you so happy about?" Slim almost snarled before making a speedy recovery.

"Deecy's baby was kickin' me in the head the whole time I was milkin' her. Reckon we're gonna have us a Christmas calf?"

 _Darn boy is sounding more like Jess every day. Ma'd have a conniption fit. I've tried, Ma... I truly have!_

"Well... let's see. When I bought her off Alvin Gruber, he said she'd just been bred. That was, what? First of April? So, yeah... Christmas would be about right, plus or minus a week either way. Not the best time of year but nothing we can do about that."

"We gonna have enough milk for the orphans an' the new calf an' us, too?"

"Oh... I think so. Those calves should've been weaned weeks ago. The only reason they're still getting milk is so the excess won't go to waste."

"Hey, Slim... wanna help me collect eggs?"

 _Not really... but I spend so little brother time with him these days... I've got to stop letting my own woes come between us..._

Andy parked the two pails on a ledge and happily led his big brother around the side of the barn to the poultry coop.

It was gonna be a good day...


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20_ _ **—**_ **MUSICAL BEDS**

" _ **I know that you think you understand what you thought I said, but I'm not**_

 _ **sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."**_ _(Unattributed)_

 **In the washroom,** Sally stoked the little potbellied stove and hoisted a kettle of water atop, in preparation for an experimental treatment her brother had suggested. In a recent copy of the _New England Journal of Medicine_ , he'd read an article by John Harvey Kellogg promoting the benefits of 'hydropathy'. Granted, she lacked the facilities of Kellogg's Battle Creek Sanitarium... but she had a deep tub, hot water and Epsom salts and that was a start.

On the ride out from town Young Doc had related—in addition to Jess' and Kim's conditions following the confrontation with the bounty hunters—a little of his meeting with Lee Wing... only the bare bones of Kim's alleged crime. She'd sensed that there'd been a great deal more he could've revealed but seemed reluctant to do so. In due time he would tell her what he felt was in her best interest to know. Of all the men Sally had ever known, her brother was the only one in whom she placed unconditional trust. Though naturally curious, she hadn't pressed him for details.

It had damned well _better_ be a good day!

 **The jangling of the triangle** outside the kitchen door summoned those outside for breakfast. In the few minutes he'd spent with Andy, Slim'd vowed to set aside his anger for the time being and make an effort to behave in a civil manner, even if his heart wasn't in it. He looked around as he and Andy sat opposite each other and Mild Bill and Opie took the other two chairs.

"Where're Jess and Sally?"

"Back there," Jonesy nodded his head toward the washroom. "She's tryin' out some new kinda treatment with hot water... 'sposed to loosen up tight muscles."

"He's in the tub?" _Steady... steady... steady..._

"Not all of 'im... just his leg. They gonna do exercises after. Was I you, I'd hurry up an' get on back outside so you won't hafta listen to 'im squall."

"I have bookwork to do," Slim said neutrally.

"And I have to study," Andy added.

"Suit yourself. Me, I'm gonna go out ta the barn where it's nice an' quiet an' cook up a batch a liniment. We're about t'run out."

"Where's Kim?"

"He's helpin' Sally."

"If he's well enough to do that," Slim growled, forgetting himself, "he can damned well be back out here doing his own job."

Jonesy snapped right back. "You wouldn't be so quick to criticize if you ever got one a them sick headaches. It's worse than the worst hangover you ever had... more like a concussion... an' you've had both so you should remember what that's like." He then launched into a graphic recounting of the condition as experienced by his late wife... not exactly conducive to easy digestion at the breakfast table.

"Young Doc didn't say anything about that," Slim attempted to defend himself.

"You ain't been too considerate a other folks' feelin's here lately so why should he waste his time? You wouldn't a listened anyway."

 **In the washroom,** Kim was attempting to shave in a mist-streaked mirror. He rarely accumulated enough facial hair to be noticeable but after four days he resembled a recently disinterred, somewhat fuzzy corpse. Jess was perched on a straight-back chair and elevated by three pillows. A folded up towel padded the back of his thigh against the rim of the tub. His leg was immersed to mid-thigh in warm soapy water infused with Epsom salts. That side of his cut-off britches was rolled up pretty much as far as it could be and he wasn't wearing any underwear, which'd necessitated a covert adjustment when his physiotherapist had her back turned.

Sally was kneeling at the side of the tub, sleeve rolled up and right hand running that sea sponge from his ankle all the way up to... where the water stopped... then down again. Other than imparting instructions in an impersonal manner, she hadn't uttered a single pleasant word since they'd started.

The water felt good and Jess felt miserable. "I wish you'd talk to me," he hesitantly ventured.

"Why?" She didn't look up.

He gulped. "I hate that you're mad at me. I'd like for us to be friends."

"Why bother if you're dead set on going away?"

"I... I ain't made up my mind yet..."

"And in the meantime everyone else can just stick their thumbs up their butts while waiting to see which way you jump, is that it?"

 _Definitely not a pleasant tone!_ "That weren't what I..."

"Do you have any idea how much grief and heartache you'd cause your family?" Sally stood up then, hands on hips.

"They ain't my..."

"Don't say it! Don't you dare say it! I'm tempted to drown you right now so they can get over the mourning and on with their lives!"

 _Now there's a possibility I ain't thought of. She could probably do it, too._

"If you'd just hear me out for a minute, hear my reasons..."

"I know your reasons and they don't hold water. First of all, you are NOT the front runner in the bounty hunter stakes... that man there is." She pointed at Kim.

"But those two jokers the other day..."

"A fluke... just a pair of uninformed morons. No doubt by now they've been updated by Sheriff Corey and won't be bothering you anymore."

"You don't understand... they ain't the first to come after me, an' they won't be the last."

"What about the men who've come after Slim? He has your back—you have his. That's how it works. But not if you're not here..."

"Uh… Sally..."

"What?"

"The water's gettin' cold. Can we stop fightin' about this? I got some more thinkin' to do on it..."

"That's all I'm asking, Jess... that you think long and hard before you burn any bridges."

Having expended enough rant for the moment, Sally used a towel to lift the bubbling kettle off the stove and tip some water into the far end of the tub.

"Wouldn't mind a little more..." Jess hinted.

"Not yet. Maybe in a few more days."

"Why not now? Heat sure feels nice."

Sally resumed her position at the side of the tub and took up the sponge. "What we're doing now is exfoliating all the dead skin."

"Ex what?"

"Scrubbing it away, to get down to the layer of new skin... which is very thin and fragile. If the water's too hot or I scrub too hard it'll abrade... scratch... that new skin and leave it open to infection. You don't want that."

 _I'll never understand wimmin... this one, anyways... first she hates me, then she likes me... one minute testy as a broody hen, next tender as a momma's kiss, then mean as a snake..._

 **Leg extracted from the tub** and patted dry, the next endeavor was relocating to the parlor. The narrow corridor between the kitchen and washroom barely accommodated one adult with two good legs, let alone someone on crutches. Jess crabbed sideways with Sally hovering nearby as spotter, just in case. By the time the trek to the chair by the fireplace was accomplished, she seemed to've got over her snit.

"How long 'til I can get rid a these sticks?" Jess grumbled.

"When you can flex your knee and ankle, put your foot flat on the floor and put your weight on it. The better you cooperate with me, the sooner that'll happen... so let's get started."

Jonesy had escaped to the barn. With books and papers spread about at the parlor table, Slim and Andy were making a none-too-convincing show of not paying attention. Knowing they were attuned to any display of weakness on his part made Jess even more self-conscious and determined to not show any. It helped that they were behind him and couldn't see his face. Sally could, though.

Unscrewing the lid to a jar of creamy ointment, Sally scooped a glob into each palm, allowing it to warm up a bit before applying it to Jess' leg.

"If you don't relax some you'll give yourself a charley horse."

"I am relaxed."

"Concentrate, Jess. Close your eyes and picture your body as you wish it to be. Pretend we're the only ones in the room... don't talk until I'm done."

"Easy for you to say..."

"Hush. This won't hurt. I'm being gentle... new skin, remember? Think pleasant thoughts... like waking up in the morning all warm and comfy and not having to get up right away..."

"Like _that_ ever happens around here!" Jess snorted.

 **Kim had paused by Andy's chair** with a few words of encouragement and approval before joining the physiotherapist and her patient. Keeping up a running narrative, Sally sought to distract Jess and educate Kim by describing whatever subsurface component her fingers and hands were massaging as they moved along.

"How come you know all this stuff?" Jess was puzzled. Wasn't doctorin' a man's domain?

"I took first and second year anatomy and physiology in college before I decided medicine wasn't for me and switched to an education core."

"Slim said you used to be a teacher, before... uh... everything."

"I was for a short while, but then I found out teaching wasn't the rewarding career it was cracked up to be."

"He told me how you come to be blacksmithin', too. You're probably the only lady blacksmith in the world!"

"Oh... I doubt that. Times are changing, Jess. Every century bumps us up another notch on the evolutionary scale."

"I got no idea what you're talkin' about," he admitted.

"Don't worry about it. You ready for the exercises now?"

"Uh... no..."

"Too bad. Okay, Kim... your turn. I'll tell you what to do..."

There was pain, yes... but not nearly as severe as yesterday's. Jess was able to keep his audible reactions to a minimum of grunts and the occasional groan. Perspiration coated his scalp and trickled down his temples. At times, with eyes squeezed shut and gritted teeth, he had to hold his breath and grip the rocker's arms so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he got through it.

"There... we're done for the morning. We'll have another session in the afternoon."

"I was afraid a that."

 **Lunch came and went** without fanfare and the rest of the day unfurled without incident. Released from durance vile, Jess alternately napped, read the paper and sat in on Andy's lessons until the next session. Jonesy set aside his witch-brew concoction to cool for later bottling, then came in to start supper preparations. Slim and the two old men took care of the four o'clock stage—none of the passengers on either run that day elected to leave the comfort of the coach. Sally checked feet on the spent teams and a couple other horses Slim had singled out as needing attention. Five needed shoe replacements and three of those required pasture rest for a couple of days before they could be brought back on line. Andy went to check on his pets and do his chores before returning to his tutor and books until suppertime. If anyone noticed Slim's mysterious regression to his more agreeable self, they were smart enough not to remark on it. At least he was speaking.

It wasn't until supper that Mild Bill dropped a bomb.

" **Seen strangers up on the ridge today, Boss,"** the old man said. "They was up there quite a spell, watchin' us."

Slim dropped his soup spoon with a clatter. "Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"They wasn't doin' nothin'. Just a settin' there behind some brush. Seemed like a good idea to not let on we knew they was up there. They left about sundown, headin' toward town."

Slim swore. "I could've gone up to see what they wanted and run 'em off."

"You kin bet they was up to no good're they wouldn'ta been tryin' to hide," Opie contributed. "Ifn you'd a rode up there alone they mighta took a notion ta plug ya."

"I saw something, too, Slim," Andy said. "When I was bringing in the milk. Only I wasn't sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Like Mister Bill said, right at sundown... just a flash of light reflecting off something shiny."

"You can't see the ridge from that side of the barn," Slim chided.

"It was on the hill back of the front pasture. Could've just been a piece of glass."

"Or a telescope lens," Jess contributed darkly.

"Or a rifle barrel," Jonesy added, not to be outdone in the bad tidings department.

With everyone looking to him for leadership, Slim debated whether or not to share the substance of his meeting with the sheriff. As for the proposal to eject Kim from the premises, he was right back where he started almost two months ago, with Kim not yet able to ride... and with a duty of care to everyone else under his roof. Suddenly his other problems—Sally, the unexplained money and gifts, including the bull—paled in comparison to the possibility, make that _probability,_ of malefactors lurking about the landscape.

Suddenly Slim lost his appetite, pushing away his soup. "There're some things you need to know about..."

 **It was too late and too dark** to do anything tonight other than agree that a night guard should be established. Against their protests, Slim insisted that Bill and Opie sleep in the house.

"You can take the bunks in my room... er... one of you'll have to take the top one."

"Reckon I'm still spry enough to climb a ladder," Opie said. "That old fart there can have the bottom."

"Who're you callin' old, you ancient buzzard?" Mild Bill retorted. They were within a month of being the same age.

"Where'm I gonna sleep?" Jonesy asked.

"You take my bed... I'll stand first watch out here," Slim said.

"How 'bout I take first watch?" Jess put in quietly. "I got a lotta sleep today..."

Slim thought about it... he'd tossed and turned the night before and was unusually tired. "All right... but I'll sleep on the sofa and we'll swap places around three."

"Done."

"Are we playing musical beds here?" Sally demanded. "If you two intend to sleep out here, Opie can use Jess' bed and no one has to climb a ladder."


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21 —_ **PRELUDE TO MAYHEM**

" _ **Home is the nicest word there is."**_ _(Laura Ingalls Wilder)_

 **Monday, November 28th...** Nothing went bump in the night. No ghoulies or ghosties or long-leggedy beasties disturbed the peace of the Sherman household. Around three in the morning Jess pried himself out of the rocker and clumped his way across the parlor to wake Slim. Taking Slim's place on the big sofa, he burrowed into the still warm blankets and dropped off immediately.

To keep himself awake, Slim swilled down cup after cup of reheated stale black coffee the consistency of shingle tar and selected a book from his personal library... something lighthearted and humorous that wouldn't burden him with weighty thoughts. Twain's _Innocents Abroad_ seemed to fit the bill. As engrossing a yarn as it was, his mind kept slithering off in other directions...

 _I've done all the sojourning I care to do... and it took a war to make me want to never leave my home again. Guess I've forgotten how I felt at Andy's age... aching to break away and see the whole big wide world. Can't blame him. Sending him to school so far off is the hardest thing I'll ever do... and the best thing I'll ever do for him. And Jonesy... thinking of ending his days in St. Louis. Always thought he'd hang on until I buried him alongside Ma and Pa and the babies. Always assumed I'd have a wife and kids by now... never figured on living alone... but I've got Jess... maybe... if we can get past this bad patch... or he settles down first and decides he needs a place of his own..._

An hour or so before dawn Slim's coffee intake exceeded his capacity to contain it. Deciding it was probably safe to leave his post undefended for the necessary interval, he took a brass ring candle holder from the mantelpiece, put a match to the taper and walked cat-footed toward the passageway to the washroom. Just as he was tiptoeing past the bunkroom, the door squeaked open. The two men startled each other.

"Sorry... didn't mean to wake you," Slim whispered.

"Already awake," Kim whispered back.

"I was just going to..." Slim nodded toward the facility.

"Any coffee left?"

"Nope. That's why I'm going in this direction."

"I'll start another pot."

 **At the kitchen table** with the overhead lamp turned it as low as it would go, so as not to disturb Jess sleeping around the corner, the two men waited for the pot to boil. Recalling Jonesy's accusation of his being inconsiderate and unsympathetic, Slim decided making amends might as well begin with Kim... and he still had unanswered questions...

"Hope you got your land legs back," he offered. "Jonesy explained about your problem. I didn't know."

Kim shrugged. "It's called 'migraine'... hereditary. My mother suffers from it. Sometimes it lasts only a few hours but it can go a couple of days."

"So is it... uh... done?" Slim made a twirling motion near his temple.

"I hope so."

"Well, don't push it if you don't feel well enough yet. Young Doc'd skin me alive."

"I'll be all right now. I think."

"Good... because we need to talk..."

"That sounds ominous."

"Things have happened... _are_ happening..."

"Because of me?"

"Well, yes. But before we get into that, let's start with those two gunmen shooting up the house last week. Bill and Opie and Jess have given me their versions but I'd like to hear yours."

Kim frowned. "Not much to tell. They came. They fired on us. We shot back. Then they left."

"Uh huh... but how did you guys know to have every gun in the house ready... as if expecting an invasion? Did someone tip you off?"

"Didn't Sally tell you?"

"I hadn't seen Sally since Monday morning..."

"Didn't she meet you at the station?"

"No... she left a message with the agent that she'd gone on home and left the wagon for me at the livery stable."

"Oh."

"Besides, she may not have been a witness to the attack, but she had to've still been here when you brought all those guns out. So I repeat... how did you know they were coming?"

"Why don't you ask her, now that she's here?"

"Because I'm asking _you_. Why are you being evasive? Why do I get the feeling something's going on... or went on... that you all don't want me to know about?"

 **Kim mustered every Far Eastern cell** in his body to mask his face with inscrutability. "I believe she might've heard some rumors in town before she came out here... after you were on the train... or Mose might've said something."

"Yeah... Corey told me about those Orientals when I drove in to get the glass."

"I didn't actually see them myself... I was in the bath when the morning stage came in and they were gone by the time I got out. She didn't mention it until the next day."

Kim almost missed the flicker of confusion that crossed Slim's face. "You mean they were _here_... in the house? Jess didn't say anything about that."

"He was sleeping. In the bedroom."

"What about Bill and Opie... didn't they see 'em, either?"

"I don't know where they were."

"How strange. They certainly didn't have any trouble noticing two women passengers getting off and on the afternoon stage. Did you?"

"That was the next day..."

"Whoa... back up some... what day did the Chinese men come through?"

"Monday."

"While Sally was here?"

"Yes."

"But those gunnies didn't come until the next day?"

"That's correct. Tuesday.

"While Sally was still here?"

"No. She'd left earlier."

Slim rubbed his face in exasperation, resisting the urge to grab Kim by the ears and shake a straight answer out of him. _Like Ma always said, you catch more flies with honey..._

"Moving along... Bill told me you were out cold when he came in... said it looked like you might've hit your head on the stove. What _do_ you remember?"

Kim frowned. "I had a knot on my head... but I don't know how it got there. I was kneeling on the bed with that double-barreled shotgun and accidently fired both barrels at the same time. The recoil blew me backwards and that's the last I recall for a while. I guess I went to bed."

"That's what Bill says..."

Slim wasn't near done with his interrogation—he had yet to broach the subject of his conversation with Mort Corey—but the squeal of a door hinge that needed oiling alerted him to a new arrival. A bleary-eyed Sally trudged around the corner, tightening the sash to her robe.

"Washroom free?"

"Yes. It's all yours."

"Coffee done?"

"Almost."

"Terrific. I'll be right back."

 **Jess awoke just as first light** was showing behind the parlor window curtains... disoriented at first, then remembering where he was and why. Slim wasn't sitting in the rocker facing the door but there was a murmur of voices trickling around the corner from the kitchen... and the aroma of coffee. Swinging his legs off the sofa, he stood up too quickly...

At the thud, chairs scraped in the kitchen and Slim came lumbering around the corner, taking in the sight of Jess sprawled face down on the floor.

"You okay? Need help?"

"Yeah an' no," Jess answered ungraciously, managing to right himself on his good knee and pull himself back up on the sofa.

"Suit yourself." Slim turned around and went back to the table.

Between the kitchen stove and the fire blazing in the parlor, the temperature in both rooms had reached a comfortable level. Jess eased into the vacant chair. For the first time ever in his recollection, Slim wasn't agitating to hurry up and finish so he could get to morning chores that much faster—it was so out of character for the man to dawdle over coffee that Jess was fascinated.

 **While the other three** exchanged commentary on mundane ranch matters, Kim sat quietly with chin in hand, ruminating over his earlier exchange with Slim, letting the hum of conversation wash over him. He had a disquieting feeling he'd given away something he shouldn't have. Slim seemed surprised about those two triad men being on the stage... yet he claimed to have already discussed the Oriental menace with the sheriff. _Of course_ Slim would wonder how four people on the premises could have collectively _not_ seen Chinese men on the stage—in itself quite unusual, or why two others would have conveniently neglected to mention it. _Of course_ he'd wonder why the guns were arrayed on the parlor table. Sally's cunning web of deceit was unraveling by the minute.

"If you're that tired, maybe you should go back to bed." Sally's voice was sharply reproving, causing Kim to jerk his head up from his folded arms where he'd drifted off.

"I'm okay. Just need some time to..." He blinked and looked around. "Where're Slim and Jess... they were here just a minute ago."

"Make that twenty minutes. Jess and Jonesy've gone off to shave and get cleaned up while Andy and I start breakfast. Slim's already at the barn."

Kim finally noticed Andy standing behind Sally, both wearing aprons over their nightclothes and robe. "I didn't hear them come in."

"Obviously. If you need to wash up, go now..."

"Already did..."

"Good. Then you can help Andy set the table..."

Mild Bill and Opie stumbled out, looking like a pair of jolly Christmas elves in their red union suits. Confounded at being caught in their underwear by a female, they made to return to the bedroom but Sally waved them in.

"No standing on formality here, boys. Come right back after you wash up. Get it while it's hot." She stepped outside the kitchen door and whanged the triangle to summon Slim back to the house.

 **One hour later...** Having just scattered feed to distract the chickens, Andy was inside their coop—enclosed for the winter—robbing the nest boxes of eggs. Waiting for the return of his student, Kim had volunteered to peel potatoes. Jonesy was kneading bread dough at the kitchen counter. Back in the washroom, Jess was entertaining Sally with some story from his Texas boyhood while doing knee and ankle stretches in the hot water. Opie was mucking out stalls in the barn. Slim and Mild Bill were in the corral, readying the relays for the ten o'clock run.

The animal Slim was harnessing alerted him to approaching visitors by throwing up its head and whinnying in salutation. Presently a pair of horses topped the crest of the stage road from the direction of Cheyenne, breaking into a lope on the downhill portion and slowing to a trot as they approached the yard. Slim exited the corral to meet them... a couple of ordinary, nondescript young cowboys, as far he could tell. Didn't appear threatening...

"Good morning."

"Howdy. Mind if we water our horses?"

"Help yourself."

Lulled into a false sense of tranquility by an undisturbed night followed by an uneventful morning, Slim should've been suspicious when only one of the riders dismounted. But he wasn't. He'd been mulling over his earlier conversation with Kim... and dwelling on what he was going to do about it.

"How far to Laramie?" the one on foot asked.

"Follow the road twelve miles... it'll take you straight into town."

The mounted man spoke up. "That's a ways off. We been ridin' a while an' we ain't had no breakfast."

"Yup. We're awful hungry, mister. Reckon you could help us out?" The one on the ground smiled ingratiatingly. "This your spread?"

"We're a relay station for Overland."

"When's the next stage due?" Number One asked.

"Thirty minutes, more or less..."

The two men glanced at each other.

Right then Slim realized he had two problems... one, he had a brace of troublemakers on his hands... and two, he'd neglected to put on his gunbelt. While those two boys looked innocent enough, they'd just shown their true colors. An unspoken rule of hospitality dictated that strangers darkening your doorstep never outright asked for anything—such as meals. Rather, it was customary to wait until an invitation was offered... as it almost invariably was. Even the smallest children knew the drill.

 **Caught between a rock and a hard spot,** Slim opted for a guileless expression. "The cook can fix you up with some grub you can eat on the road..."

The one still astride made a face. "Well, ya see... we had sumpin' in mind more on the order a settin' down at the table like civilized folks... with hot food 'n coffee." Suddenly pistols appeared and Slim was looking right down a barrel. The other one was trained on Mild Bill, who'd frozen in his tracks.

"You... old man... come out here!"

Bill exited the corral slowly, taking his time to secure the gate before coming to stand next to Slim. The second man slid from the saddle.

"Water these nags, grandpaw. Then take 'em inta the barn an' see to it they get a good feed!" Number Two barked.

"No use asking _him_ anything... deaf as a post," Slim interrupted.

"How'd he know to come out, then?" Number One asked.

"He's deaf, not stupid. Any fool could figure out what you wanted."

"Don't get smart with me, big boy. I'm holdin' the cards here... I mean the gun."

"I can see that. Hold on just a minute..."

Slim turned to Bill. With exaggerated hand movements, pointing to the horses, the barn and his own mouth, he got across the idea that the horses needed to be led inside and fed. Bill nodded his understanding and reached for the reins. At that moment Andy hove into sight between the barn and the house, toting the egg basket. Seeing they had visitors, he changed course. Because a horse stood between him and the men, he didn't see the guns until he was right there and almost dropped the basket.

"Sl...Sl...Slim?"

"This your kid?" Number One queried.

"Indentured from the county workhouse." Slim snarled and cuffed the boy smartly across the ear. "How many times I gotta say it, half-wit... it's _Mister_ Sherman to you!"

Andy's mouth fell open and he was showing the whites of his eyes. The egg basket jiggled alarmingly. "Yessir... sorry, sir... Mister Sherman... um... they's waitin' on these eggs in the house, sir..."

 _No flies on that boy!_

"Get on in there, then... tell the cook to start fixing breakfast for two... and tell the missus to set the table for unexpected company!"

"Yessir... um... all right if I go now?" he asked Number One timidly.

"Git," Number One ordered, never taking his eyes off Slim. "And tell that cook it's breakfast for four. Our friends'll be here shortly."

"How many others around here?" Number Two demanded.

 _Tell the truth... or prevaricate and trust those in the house will react accordingly?_ "Just my woman... and another old man who's the cook..."

"What for you need a cook if you got you a woman?" Number Two asked.

"We're a relay station. We feed stage passengers twice a day. She has enough to do already... and he's not just a cook, he helps with laundry and household chores."

"Some wimmin're just spoiled rotten, ain't they, Chuck?" Number Two laughed.

"Why're you doing this?" Slim asked.

"You got somethin' we want. Hand it over and won't nobody get hurt."

"What is it you think I have that's worth stealing?"

"Ain't a thing... it's a Chinaman. We aim to take him."

"I promise you, there are no Chinese folks on these premises. You're welcome to look."

"Oh, we're gonna, welcome or not. Now march!"

Slim felt the hard nose of a pistol barrel jammed against his back.

 **Before they could turn toward the house** , however, another set of riders arrived at a trot. Halting at the corral fence, they dismounted stiffly and paused to straighten their gentlemanly attire. Obviously not accustomed to riding distances. Very obviously not white men.

Numbers One and Two stepped back in deference as the taller of the newcomers approached Slim. Taking no notice whatsoever of the two cowboys, he removed his bowler and gave a courteous bow.

"You are the proprietor of this establishment, yes?" he inquired.

Though Slim had many times spoken with Lee Wing, it was still disconcerting to hear near-perfect English issuing from the mouth of an Oriental person. He could hear his mother the educator admonishing him to speak and behave with gentility when in the presence of well-bred persons—she wasn't having a son of hers deemed a bumpkin!

"I'm Slim Sherman..." _No reason not to be polite until I find out what they want... although I'm sure I already have the answer to that question..._

"I am Mister Kwai. This is my associate Mister Chang."

"How can I help you?" _A reasonable question any householder would ask... even if being held at gunpoint._

"I spoke with a lady here last week... your missus, one presumes? I wish to speak with her again."

"Mind stating your business, sir?" _These must be the two passengers Sally mentioned. They must've figured out they were sent on a wild goose chase so now they're back. God... I'm sounding like my mother!_

"I believe she may be in possession of information pertinent to our affairs."

"What information might that be?" _No point in antagonizing these people... but, again, no husband is going to allow strangers to question his wife without cause..._

"I have reason to believe a certain individual for whom we are searching has passed through here quite recently or is somewhere in the immediate area—perhaps even right here on your station. Perhaps she has remembered something since then."

 _Stall, stall, stall..._

"Whoever gave you that information was mistaken." _Someone in Wing's house must've squealed... has to be._

"I think not."

 _Stall some more..._

"Mister Kwai, if there were a Chinese man here, don't you think I'd know about it?"

Mister Kwai smiled, if one could call it that. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "I did not mention he was Chinese, sir..."

 _Oh shit._

"Your pal here did." Slim inclined his head sideways to indicate the owner of the hand holding the gun currently poking him in the kidney. "I'm not inclined to be too helpful with a gun in my back."

"I can assure you... this person is not my 'pal'," Kwai said drily, looking past Slim's shoulder. "Mister Jones, you will kindly holster your weapon and behave in a civilized manner."

"But I..."

"And... when I need you to speak I shall so advise."

"Yessir," Number One muttered. The pressure on Slim's back ceased.

" **Now then, Mister Sherman.** Allow me to explain that this so-called Chinaman—who, by the way, gives the appearance of a white man—is a violent criminal. We desire to apprehend this individual, so that he may be repatriated to face a jury of his peers for a particularly heinous murder."

"On what authority? Are you employed by any governmental agency of the United States? If so, I'd like to see your credentials..." _Doing the best I can, Ma... but this joker's really getting on my nerves!_

"Alas, no. We are privately employed." The spokesman's civility was beginning to fray around the edges but he was still striving to maintain a courteous front. Withdrawing a trade card from a vest pocket, he handed it over with another little bow. It was the same one he'd left with Sally.

"So you're bounty hunters?" _If I can just keep them busy long enough..._

"A pejorative term, sir... and entirely inappropriate. Although there are large sums of money offered for his capture, we do not personally reap the benefits. We are salaried agents."

"In any case, it doesn't really matter," Slim said. "If he isn't here, he isn't here."

"Perhaps I have not made your position clear. Were you to present this person willingly, you would be the recipient of a rather large cash reward. However, if you are found to be aiding and abetting a fugitive, you will not only relinquish all claim to monetary benefits but place yourself in jeopardy of prosecution."

"I've already made myself clear. There's no such person here unless he's somewhere else on my property without my knowledge or permission. Now get on your horses and get the hell off my ranch."

Making no effort to maintain a pleasant mien, the other one withdrew a pistol from a shoulder holster and ostentatiously checked the cylinder. He muttered something to Mister Kwai in a foreign tongue Slim took to be Chinese and got a nod of acknowledgment in return.

"We shall go to the house now, if you please."

 _Like I have a choice! Just hope I've stalled long enough..._


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter 22 —_ **OVERTURE**

" _ **If you suffer an attack, your best ally is to keep calm."**_ _(Miguel el Portugués)_

 **In the meantime,** it had taken every drop of Andy's will power to not drop the basket and pelt screaming toward the house. _What would Jess do?_ Well, for one thing, even Jess would know that hired help don't usually come and go by the front door. Andy made for the side door of the kitchen.

Once inside he breathlessly imparted what he understood of the situation to Jonesy and Kim. Jonesy'd been through too many emergencies of this nature go into a panic.

"Sally and Jess're in the washroom. Go tell 'em what you just told us, then come right back..."

Andy fled down the hall.

"Kim, you come with me."

In the parlor, Jonesy picked out a rifle and a box of ammo... on second thought adding a shotgun and another box of shells.

"Take Jess' rig an' this other one... we'll leave Slim's on the rack an' the shotgun over the mantel... it'll look suspicious if there ain't no guns a'tall..."

The 'other' gunbelt, worn with age and hard usage, must have belonged to someone considerably heftier than even Slim. In response to Kim's query, Jonesy replied that it had belonged Slim and Andy's father, Matt Sr.

 **Jonesy had formulated a plan** by the time Andy returned. "If I know Slim, he's gonna stonewall them buzzards long as he can to give us some time before they march 'im in here... Kim, you an' Jess are gonna have to sneak out the back door soon's they come in the front one. Andy, you stay here with me. I'll tell 'em the missus is in the bath... they'll have to stop an' think about that afore they go bargin' in there."

"How're we going to know when it's time?" Kim inquired.

"I could drop a skillet on the floor," Andy suggested. "That's something a retard might do..."

"Good idea!"

Burdened with two big guns and two gunbelts, Kim staggered down the hallway while Jonesy and Andy scooped up all other visible weaponry, stashing them under the fainting couch and the big sofa—far enough back that someone would have to be on his hands and knees to see them.

" **Hurry up!" Sally hissed at Kim** as he misjudged the width of the doorframe at the end of the hall and briefly jammed himself, nearly dropping the load. Fumbled it again as he took in the most incongruous sight ever—Sally in her knickers and camisole helping Jess struggle into _her_ overalls over his shorts.

"I guess that's one way of getting into her pants," Kim said, for lack of an intelligent comment.

"Just what we need... a comedian!" Sally snapped. "What's the game plan?"

Kim dropped his arsenal on the floor and flexed his shoulders. "I don't see how Jess wearing your britches is going to improve our position."

Balancing on one crutch, Jess was cussing under his breath, trying to get the brass fasteners over their corresponding buttons on the bib. "Not worryin' 'bout my nuts freezin' off is gonna improve my aim... um... sorry, Sally."

"You have a valid point. Now, Kim... what were Jonesy's instructions?"

"As soon as those four men and Slim come inside, Andy's going to drop a pan on the floor. That'll be our signal to run across the yard to the barn. I don't think he was factoring in Jess' crutches, though."

"You let me worry about them crutches! I'll manage," Jess snorted. "Hand me my rig. You put on the other one..."

"What? Why?"

" 'Cause you need two hands for the shotgun an' one for the pistol."

"That's three hands..."

"You know what I mean... put the damned thing on."

As Kim fumbled with the belt, Sally rolled her eyes and stepped forward to assist. Even tightened to the last hole it was still too loose.

"You might wanna keep a hand on it… just in case..." Jess said.

"With what? My third hand?" Kim gritted.

"I'd suggest you two quit wasting time talking and get busy doing," Sally said. "Crack that door open so all you have to do is swing it... and turn around."

"Why?" the two men queried at the same time.

" 'Cause if I'm supposed to be in the bath, then I need to be _in_ the bath, get it?"

 **Poised facing the door,** Jess heard the rustle of garments being shed and flung on the chair, then the sploosh of a body entering water.

"Oh Lord... is she really naked?" he groaned.

Kim actually turned around and looked. Sally winked at him as she lowered herself down into the tub. He turned back to face the same direction as Jess, smirking.

"Oh yeah. Don't think about it."

"How'm I 'sposed to not think about it?"

"Think about the dozen ways this could go wrong..."

"Druther not. Look, I'll need your help gettin' off the side porch... there's a stepoff. Once we're on the ground, it ain't that far to the side door a the barn an' it's all level. No problem..."

"Right. Just a sortie through a mine field of chicken poop and us with no shoes. Not to mention bozos with itchy trigger fingers..."

Jess looked down at their bare feet. "Well... shit!"

"Exactly."

"Told you to wear your mocs, didn't I?" Sally's voice came from behind.

Kim took another peek. She'd poured in some sort of liquid soap and was agitating the water to create mounds of bubbles that were cascading over the rim onto the floor.

"Quit lookin'. It ain't polite!" Jess growled.

"Quit being such a prude, Jess," Sally retorted. "Instead of worrying about being proper, you two should be considering your battle strategy once you're outside..."

"Both doors to the hall closed?" Jess worried. "How we gonna hear...?"

And that's when the pan hit the floor...

" **Now!" Jess hissed.** Kim flung the door the rest of the way open so Jess could guide his crutches through the door frame. When they were both outside, "Close the door behind us... easy!"

Kim lay the rifle and shotgun on the porch floor, hopped down and almost lost the gunbelt. Hitching it back up, he reached up to help Jess down, grabbing him by the waist as one would assist a female down from a wagon seat... awkward but necessary.

"Pick up those guns and get a move on," Jess ordered. "If one of 'em looks out the kitchen window he'll see us."

"Mind how you go," Kim countered. "If you slip and fall we're screwed. My arms are full. I can't help you up."

"Mind your own feet, buster!"

Somehow they got across the space and inside the smaller barn door without anyone opening fire. Bill materialized from the shadows and closed the door behind them. "Where's Opie?" Jess asked.

"Loft. By the loadin' door... with a shotgun. Stage gonna be here any minute now."

"You armed?"

The old man nodded affirmatively. Noting Kim carrying the rifle and shotgun, he grinned. "Sucker for punishment, ain't ya? How's that shoulder?"

"Still bruised. Still hurts. That shotgun kicks like a mule."

"Head okay now?"

"Fine."

"You'll do." Bill approved of anyone willing to take it for the team.

 **Together they moved** toward the open door at the front of the barn. In the seconds it took to traverse the center aisle behind Jess, Kim realized he was witnessing a transformation in progress... from crippled hired hand to warrior preparing to engage the enemy. Ridiculous though he might appear—on crutches, with bare, guano-encrusted feet and a gunbelt strapped around oversized overalls—Jess Harper was in his element. On point and poised for action. Self-confident and totally focused on the moment. Primed to kill. Kim shivered... and not just from the cold.

Except for the pulsating muscle at his jaw, Jess' grim face could have been sculpted in marble. Moving to the empty stall just inside the big front door, he silently cased the front of the house and the portion of the yard where the coach normally halted. Then he nodded to himself, evidently satisfied this offered a satisfactory field of fire. The stall partition's spaced boards provided little protection but ideal support against which to lean, leaving both hands free.

Jess motioned to Bill to take position on the other side of the doorway. Turning to Kim, who'd followed him into the stall, he pointed at the loft ladder.

"Take the rifle up there."

"Are you serious? I can't just _shoot_ people..."

Irritation flitted across Jess' face... and then insight—it was his turn to boost morale. He made a conscious effort to sound encouraging.

"It's them or us... they have four hostages... _our_ people."

"And because of me," Kim interrupted bitterly, "they might be killed or hurt." He thrust the rifle at Jess. "Take this. I'm going out there and give myself up... they'll let the others walk..."

A powerful hand snaked out to snag Kim's wrist. "You ain't goin' nowhere..."

"Let go..."

"Not 'til you hear what I gotta say... Slim coulda give you up plenty a times in the past two months... but he didn't. He's determined to keep you alive an' in one piece, an' I ain't about to let 'im down."

"It's not your decision to make, Jess..."

"Right now it is... you ain't goin' out there if I gotta knock you out cold to keep you here!"

As the captive struggled to break free, Jess tightened his grip.

"Listen to me... we been in this fix before. My first day here, matter a fact... an' we came out okay. We got a better'n good chance here. I'm guessin' when the stage comes in they're gonna send Slim an' one a them cowboys out. If Mose is drivin', Slim'll find a way to let him know somethin's wrong... if nothin' else, he'll hafta tell 'im the passengers can't come in today..."

"And then what?"

Mild Bill spoke up then. "We warn't done reddin' up them relays. They's still in the corral, half-dressed, so to speak."

"Even better! They'll hafta send out someone to see what's the hold up... either Andy or one a their own. We got the advantage 'cause they don't know 'bout the other three of us 'sides Bill here in the barn."

"We don't know what's going on in the house..." Kim said.

"I'm bettin' they're busy sniffin' around lookin' for you, an' maybe for me. If they already figgered out there's more'n four people livin' there, we woulda heard somethin' by now. Best we just sit tight an' wait for a sign..."

Kim was beginning to see the logic in Jess' strategy but... "I'm just as likely to shoot the wrong person... or miss entirely."

"No... look... get Opie to show you how to fire from a prone position. Steady hand an' better control that way. Just pick anybody what ain't one a ours... just not the driver or any passengers... or horses."

"I'll do my best," Kim agreed doubtfully.

"You'll do fine... get on up there. Throw a handful a hay down when you get in position so I'll know you're ready. An' don't fire 'til after I shoot first. Tell Opie."

"Okay..."


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23 —_ **COURAGE UNDER FIRE**

" _ **Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear."**_ _(Mark Twain)_

 **Fifteen minutes earlier…** Chuck Flint—earlier known as Number One—and his compadre, Number Two (whose name turned out to be Pete Stone) had been looking to their cohorts-in-charge for guidance.

Slim'd gone in first, followed by Mister Kwai and Mister Chang. Jonesy'd shuffled around the corner from the kitchen nook wearing his best fuddled-old-geezer face.

"Boss... it'll be awhile afore them aigs is done. You want biscuits with... oh...!" The 'cook' had feigned shock at seeing two drawn pistols and stopped short, nervously twisting a dishrag. Playing the part of dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks bound boy, Andy'd peered around the corner and promptly fumbled the enormous cast iron skillet he was carrying. The resounding clang and clatter as it hit the floor made everyone jump.

Mister Kwai'd been unperturbed. "Your missus does not appear to be present, Mister Sherman."

Slim'd fixed a gimlet eye on his two 'servants'. "Where is she? Didn't you tell her I said to get the table ready for company?"

"Miz Sally's havin' her a bath back yonder." Jonesy'd tilted his head back toward the door to the hall. "Said she'd be out when she's good an' ready an' for the boy to help me."

Mister Kwai'd shook his head. "I will never understand how you Americans tolerate such disobedience from your women. In my country, they know their place!"

Jonesy'd lifted his head, twitching his nose. "My bacon!" He'd fled back into the kitchen, Andy right behind him.

Slim'd grimaced, nothing if not adaptable to foreign formalities. "Your culture does have certain admirable advantages. That woman back there isn't the most biddable one could desire. She won't take kindly to being disturbed. I heartily recommend giving her a decent interval to dry off and get dressed." _How'm I doing, Ma? Are they fooled into thinking I'm an educated gent?_

"Very well," Mister Kwai'd agreed, waving toward the rockers. He'd produced a gold pocketwatch and checked the time. "We will sit, you and I, and await the lady of the house. Where do those lead?" He'd indicated the doors opening off the parlor.

"Bedrooms," Slim'd answered, taking a seat.

Mister Kwai'd pointed at Chuck. "Mister Flint and Mister Chang… go investigate. Ensure no one is hiding in a closet or under a bed. Chop chop!"

 **Doing his best to maintain** a calm, unconcerned appearance, Slim'd felt perspiration prickling his scalp.

 _Where are Kim and Jess? There aren't that many places to hide... other than the attic and the root cellar... and Jess couldn't do either one with his bum leg..._

Looking up, Mister Kwai'd spotted the attic access in the ceiling. "There is a ladder, yes?"

"In the back bedroom. There's another hatch in there."

When the two searchers'd emerged from both bedrooms with nothing to report, they were instructed to have a look upstairs and the adjacent. Mister Chang observed that there were four doors in the kitchen.

Mister Kwai'd steepled his fingers. "And those lead where...?"

"Front yard, side porch, root cellar, hallway... another small bedroom opens off the hallway and the door at the end goes to the washroom, where my woman's bathing."

Directed to inspect the root cellar and the third bedroom but not the washroom, the investigators'd done so and returned to the parlor to await further orders. Mister Kwai'd again consulted his watch and grunted. "It has been fifteen minutes. She has had ample time to comply..."

Slim'd gone cold. _What the hell is going on back there?_

Mister Kwai'd hooked a finger toward Pete. "You... Mister Stone... go inform that woman we wish to speak to her at once... and that she is to make herself presentable without further delay!"

"Who? Me?" Pete'd squeaked. "I ain't pullin' no naked female outta no tub!"

Kwai'd sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Imbecile. I did not mean physically remove her. Just go in there and _order_ her, if you please."

He'd shaken his head at Slim. "Reliable help is difficult to come by these days. Intelligent help, impossible."

Pete'd holstered his weapon and edged away while his buddy Chuck was shaking with ill-concealed mirth. In spite of the dire situation, Slim was having a difficult time keeping a straight face... having no illusions as to Sally's reaction. He recalled the old Chinese curse... _'May you live in interesting times!'_ No question interesting things were about to happen.

 **Poor Pete!** He really wasn't a badman at heart and he really didn't want to be doing this. His mama'd have a conniption fit if she knew. Stepping lightly down the hall so as not to alarm the lady, he gave the door a tentative two-knuckle two-beat rap...

" _WHADDAYOU WANT?"_

Obviously not some shrinking violet in there! Pete removed his hat. Clutching it to his chest and closing his eyes, he turned the knob and cracked the door just enough to admit his head. "M'am?"

" _EEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKK!"_ The amplitude of Sally's bloodcurdling screech created a gravity wave that bounced off the walls and vibrated the door. An accurately lobbed bar of soap parted Pete's hair and bounced on the floor behind him. He involuntarily ducked and pulled the door inwards, trapping his ears between the edge and the frame. His eyes and mouth flew open simultaneously. In the split second before a well-aimed soapy sea sponge found its mark, he glimpsed an impressively large nude woman rising from the foam like Venus from the half-shell.

Under other circumstances Pete might've had occasion to savor the view. As it were, his eyes were burning, he was choking on suds and she was whacking the daylights out of him with a long-handled back brush...

" _GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!"_

Poor Pete! As if he weren't trying his damndest to do just that!

Intertwined bellows and yowls accompanied by thumping and bumping noises rolled down the passageway into the kitchen and parlor. Slim had to cover his face with his hand to keep from losing it. _That's my girl!_

Mister Kwai's inscrutability level dropped a notch or two as he and his companion stared at each other in consternation. China and glassware on the half-set table jiggled musically.

"Perhaps you should go back there and see if that moron requires assistance," Mister Kwai blandly suggested to Mister Chang.

" _You_ go. I watch this one. That lady _crazy!_ " Mister Chang replied firmly. Inch by inch, Chuck was worming his way toward the front door. Torture by insane woman wasn't what he'd signed up for, nosiree!

Scowling with displeasure, Mister Kwai stood up abruptly and marched toward the hallway, snarling at Jonesy and Andy to make way. Striding into the dimness, he failed to notice the slick bar of wet soap...

Mister Kwai was not a tall man, but he was solid muscle and weighed a lot. When he hit the deck the floors shook throughout the house and his yelp of pain prompted Chuck to make a break for the front door. Quick as a wink, Jonesy snatched his rolling pin from the side counter and made for the man on the floor.

"Run for it, Andy! I'll take care a this one!" Jonesy yelled. From around the corner a string of Chinese oaths accompanied the fleeing cowboy.

 **The occupants of the barn** not only heard Sally's screeches of indignation but fancied they could sense seismic shocks traversing the yard. Jess couldn't help but chuckle. "Now they gone an' done it!"

Actually, what they were feeling was the rumbling of four wheels and the pounding of sixteen hooves as the ten o'clock stage from Cheyenne careened down the hill.

Jess yelled to hold fire as the front and side entrances simultaneously disgorged their respective evacuees, flying like the hounds of hell were on their tails on a collision course for the barn. Andy made it by two lengths, dodging the heap of manure Opie'd earlier raked out of a stall but hadn't got around to loading into the wheelbarrow. Not as nimble-footed, Chuck stumbled and face-planted right into it, whereupon Mild Bill clocked him with the stock of his shotgun.

"Over here!" Jess yelled. Andy squirreled into the stall.

"Where's Kim?"

"Up in the loft. Stay behind me. Anyone hurt in there?"

"Miss Sally's beatin' the stew out of that other man. I think she's killin' him!"

"Good for her! What about those two thugs?"

"One's in the parlor... he's got a gun on Slim. The other one... well, he slipped on something an' fell down. Jonesy went after him with a rolling pin..."

 **In the entrance to the hallway,** Kwai had no sooner scrambled to his hands and knees than Jonesy whumped him a good one with the rolling pin, sending him sprawling once more. Swinging his weapon of choice for a second assault, Jonesy made an error in judgment by standing too close. Kwai's flailing hand fastened onto a bony ankle long enough to drag him down to floor level as well. In the ensuing clinch, Kwai used a ham fist to clobber Jonesy hard enough to mash the old man's derby down over his eyes.

 **In the parlor,** Slim stood up quickly, taking advantage of the distraction of Chuck's escape. Before he could launch himself toward Chang, the man fired and missed. The bullet ricocheted off the fireplace and caught Slim in the shoulder, throwing him off balance to the floor. Chang was drawing down on Slim when Kwai came lurching into the room, doubled over in pain and groaning.

"Do not bother. Come. We are leaving. This is a waste of time."

 **In the yard,** after the stage had jounced to a halt,Mose noted with annoyance that not only were the relays not ready, no attendants were standing by in readiness. He clambered down from the box and opened the compartment door to allow passengers to disembark... two women and one man. Mose was shepherding his flock toward the house for coffee and pie when a gunshot rang out from within. They stopped short of the porch steps as a disheveled Chinese businessman clomped out the door followed by an equally forbidding Oriental.

 **In the barn,** Jess couldn't risk a shot with everyone clumped so close together at the front of the house. All he could do was watch and wait for the crowd to disperse. The two thugs would have to cross open space to get to their horses still tied to the corral fence... and then they'd be easy pickings. Belatedly he realized that from his position they would quickly pass out of his visual range unless he moved forward and stood near the door... and for that he'd need his crutches. Or maybe just one crutch and his pistol. Blast and damn!

"Andy..."

"Yes?"

"Take this shotgun up to Kim. Bring me back the rifle. Remind him an' Opie do _not_ shoot at those stage people... or the house... or the stage. Shoot over their heads."

"Got it!" Andy took the weapon and monkeyed up the ladder to the loft.

Out on the front porch a Mexican standoff was in progress with a lot of gesticulating and shouting though the words were indistinguishable. One of the Chinese men had paused to adjust his bowler. Apparently Mose and the women were demanding right of way. While that was going on, the outside door to the washroom opened—just barely within Jess' line of sight to the left. Someone large, white and naked heaved someone clothed, wet and moaning right out the door and completely off the side porch into the yard. It was the other cowboy. Chickens squawked and flapped everywhere, except the one he landed on. The door slammed shut.

Jess was getting more and more impatient, waiting for the porch conclave to break up. Durn stubborn women! Damn stubborn Chinks! Darn deaf Mose! Andy scampered back down the ladder and brought him the rifle. Which still didn't do him any good unless they spread out some. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, handing the rifle back to Andy and withdrawing his pistol. For the first time, Andy noticed what Jess was wearing and opened his mouth to crack wise.

"Not now," Jess growled through gritted teeth. "Maybe later... but not now. You heard that gunshot inside..." He didn't have to say anymore as the grin died on the boy's face and the realization set in that something must've happened to his brother.

"I'm gonna get 'em movin'... stay behind the door... but if anythin' happens..."

Andy nodded in white-faced worry as Jess stepped out into the open.

 **Inside the house,** Slim had hauled himself up—dazed but not out of the game. Through the open front door he was looking directly at the profiles of Messieurs Kwai and Chang. They weren't paying any attention to him. They had guns and he didn't... his was missing from his belt on the rack, and the shotgun gone from over the mantel. They weren't in view anywhere. His next thought was for getting his people out of the house safely... but where were they? The sudden silence was more nerve-wracking than the commotion that'd preceded it. Inching his way backwards towards the kitchen, Slim slipped around the corner... and saw Jonesy on the floor halfway into the passage. His gut tightened up.

 _Please, please, please don't let him be dead!_

Before he could react, Sally loomed in the doorframe of the washroom—magnificently, splendiferously naked... and unable to advance further with Jonesy blocking the way.

"Throw me that tablecloth folded up on the piano, would you?" As nonchalant as if she were requesting the salt be passed.

Too numb to be astonished by anything Sally did or said, Slim complied and knelt down besides Jonesy just as the latter was coming to. The derby was solidly wedged down around his ears and Slim had to tug it loose.

Jonesy was thrashing around and hollering. "Lemme at 'im... lemme at 'im... I'll show them bastards a thing or two!"

"Shhhhh! They're out on the front porch with the stage passengers... "

Towering above both men as she wrapped the tablecoth around herself and tucked in the ends, Sally noted the red stain spreading on the back of Slim's shirt. "Was that the shot I heard? How bad is it? Let me look..."

"No time. Where're Jess and Kim?"

"In the barn with Opie and Bill... they're armed..." Sally said.

"Andy... where's Andy?" Slim leaped to his feet, eyes bulging. Jonesy fell back to the floor with a thud.

"My sacroiliac!" Jonesy wailed.

"I thought he was in here with Jonesy," Sally said, stepping over Jonesy's body to peer out the side door. "I think I see movement in the barn but can't tell who it is..."

"S'cuse me!" Jonesy squawked, "but would you mind helpin' me up?"

Slim dragged him up by the armpits and shook him like a rag doll, shouting "WHERE'S MY BROTHER?!"

"He's... in... the... barn... safe..." Jonesy choked out between rattles.

"Pull in your horns, you big oaf!" Sally smacked Slim on his wounded shoulder. He let go and Jonesy sank to the floor only to be hauled right back up by Sally, who glowered at Slim. "Bully! You okay, Jonesy?"

"I would be if Slim'd quit droppin' me on the floor like a sack a beans."

"Sorry, Jonesy... I didn't mean to..." Slim apologized.

Monitoring the door again, Sally cut in. "Where're those men now... and Mose and the passengers?"

"Still around front... arguing... we have to get out of the house..."

"We can't get to the barn without them seeing us... maybe we should... oh wait... something's happening... oh God, no! It's Jess... he's coming out into the open!"

 **Out front,** Chang forcefully shoved the women against the wall and out of his way as he stomped down the steps ahead of his associate. The ladies squalled in outrage but quickly shut up at the sight of the pistol in Chang's hand. The man who'd been on the stage with them had scuttled his cowardly ass behind the rose trellis at the corner. Hunched over and hobbling but remarkably agile for a man who'd just thrown out his back, Kwai likewise unholstered his weapon before cautiously negotiating the steps.

Thirty paces out and heading toward his mount, Chang found himself facing a barefoot apparition in baggy overalls... on a crutch—with a gun aimed right at him. Momentarily dumbfounded that this ridiculous peasant had the audacity to confront him, Chang simply raised his weapon to dispose of the obstruction. Chang and Jess fired at the same time. Incredibly at such short range, both missed. But—as the Chinese operative folded to the ground, his torso riddled with buckshot—his last conscious sight was of an astonished face peering down from the loft loading door.

Halting ten paces behind his newly-deceased compatriot, Kwai allowed no sentimentality to impede his earnest desire to depart these wretched premises with utmost haste. He did, however, spare a fraction of a second to ponder what might be occurring at the side of the house to distract his opponent's attention... just long enough for Jess to get off the first shot. Kwai then drew and fired.

Even had he been operating at his best, Jess' concentration would still have suffered when Slim, Jonesy and Sally (bizarrely draped in a green-and-white checkered tablecloth) squeezed through the kitchen's side door. When he went down, everyone's heart stopped. It wasn't immediately evident where he'd been hit. All they saw was his right leg buckling and then his body on the ground, motionless.

Immediately stumping toward his getaway horse, Kwai didn't get very far. Andy ran out of the barn... a small but frantic figure with a very large rifle. His cry of anguish caused Kwai to turn around and peer in his direction.

With but one overriding belief in his head—that this man walking away had killed not only his brother but his best friend—the boy who couldn't bear to hurt an animal didn't hesitate to aim and fire.


	24. Chapter 24

_Chapter 24_ _ **—**_ **TRAUMA**

" _ **In trauma recovery, the objective is for the past to become a very tiny part**_

 _ **of your very large, competent, capable and free self."**_ _(Michelle Rosenthal)_

 **No one dared move** —other than the poor benighted soul covered in feathers and guano, crawling around on his hands and knees—until Jess floundered to sit up. In moments he was surrounded by people babbling in relief. The rapidly spreading blood stain on the overalls just above the knee gave evidence that while the wound was serious it wasn't immediately deadly.

Oblivious to his own injury, Slim barked out orders. "Bill... Mose... you take his feet. Sally... we'll get his arms..."

Easier said than done. Not about to let himself to be toted inside like a sack of potatoes in front of spectators, Jess angrily batted away their grappling hands.

"Stop fighting us... we need to get you inside," Slim commanded, blood from his own wound runneling down his shirt sleeve. Every gesticulation flung droplets on the would-be orderlies and their casualty.

"I can walk..." Jess insisted through clenched teeth. "Just help me up..."

"Don't be an idiot..."

"Leave me be!" Jess kicked out at Mose and Bill, who were attempting to grab his ankles. Blood pooling inside his pants leg shot out, splashing Mose.

"Wisht I had me a piggin' string," Mild Bill grunted, attaching himself to Jess' good leg while Mose tackled the other one.

"Do something before he hurts himself!" Sally yelled, throwing herself across Jess' torso.

Slim had a death grip on one arm with Jonesy hovering anxiously over his shoulder. Pinioned to the ground by four pairs of hands, Jess was forced to accept defeat by superior force. By then they all looked as though they'd been butchering hogs.

"Promise to behave?" Sally demanded.

"Promise..." Jess gasped. "Just... don't... carry... me... an'...get... offa... me... can't breathe."

With Jess slung between them in an upright position, Slim and Sally approached the porch. Now joined by the rose trellis coward, the stage ladies moved aside to let them pass, clearly both thrilled to have witnessed an epic gun battle and mortified at the resulting bloodbath. They stared at Sally as if they'd never before encountered an Amazon wearing a checked tablecloth.

"Sarong," Sally quipped. "They're all the rage in Calcutta."

One of the women seemed about to faint. The other one elevated her nose and sniffed. "I believe your kitchen is on fire," she said primly, as Jonesy trotted by.

He swiveled to see smoke swirling out the open door. _"HELL'S BELLS!"_

 **Hustling Jess into the bedroom,** Slim held him up by the armpits while Sally stripped off the overalls... thanking heaven for the shorts underneath, otherwise they would've had a renewed scuffle on their hands. Additional thanks were offered that the entry and exit points of the bullet indicated a small caliber weapon—and that while the bleeding was still profuse, no major artery had been involved. As it was, Jess put up a token resistance to being deposited horizontally on the bed.

There was a stack of clean towels on the dresser. Sally unfolded one and handed it to Slim, directing him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Wrap this around his leg and keep it elevated—that'll slow down the bleeding. Keep pressure on both sites. Let me see your shoulder..."

"What?"

"Unbutton your shirt. I need to see what's going on with you."

Blood was still oozing from the blue-circled puncture wound high on the back of Slim's right shoulder. More annoying than serious. Still, it would require attention soon. Another towel folded lengthwise served as temporary protection in the meanwhile and his shirt would hold it in place, provided he didn't move around too much.

"Can you hold the fort for a few minutes? I've got to get some things together..."

"We'll be fine. Go. But hurry."

"Sit tight and don't let Jess get up. I'll be right back..."

 **Jonesy was fanning away** remnants of greasy black smoke when Sally came in. He'd thrown the skilletful of charred bacon strips into the yard before the kitchen itself caught on fire. Through the kitchen's open front door could be seen the three old men unhooking the spent team while the passengers were hastily reboarding the stage, having declined sustenance and/or any additional excitement.

"How bad is it?" Jonesy inquired.

"It's a through-and-through. Don't think it hit anything too important but you be the judge. I don't have that much experience with gunshot wounds." Sally stooped to haul out from under the counter Jonesy's household 'medical kit'—one of Young Doc's old cast-off black valises. "And you'll have to dig a bullet out of Slim."

"Oh, Lordy," Jonesy exclaimed. "Everythin' happened so fast I forgot about Slim bein' shot..."

"It looks superficial to me... but there again, you've been down this road before."

"More times than I care to recall, missy." Jonesy shook his head mournfully. "I'll ask Mose to get word to Young Doc but it'll be hours before he can get here …"

"We can't wait on him, Jonesy… we'll have to do what we can in the meantime."

Jonesy sighed. "You might wanna get yourself decent first. You're about to lose your tablecloth... an' I don't think this ole ticker can take another exhibition."

Sally glanced down to find her covering was indeed about to head south. She grinned and pulled it tight again, tucking in the loose end. "I thought I looked rather fetching, myself."

"That ain't the word I had in mind. Do I even wanna know…?"

"No... you don't. Trust me on that. I'll be right back... oh hell! My clothes are sopping wet on the washroom floor and I didn't bring any spares..."

Jonsey pursed his mouth. "Look in that old chest in the back corner a my room. There's some a Slim's daddy's old clothes I saved—you might could squeeze into 'em..."

"Thanks, Jonesy... I knew I could count on you..."

 **Jonesy's eyes bugged out a little** when Sally returned in worn faded overalls over a motheaten longjohn top that accentuated every unsupported curve.

"Nurse Lowenstein reporting for duty, Doctor Jones."

Jonesy'd been busy during her absence... the satchel sat open on the kitchen table adjacent to a tray with a clean hand towel spread on it. Next to that were two enameled basins and the repurposed tea chest in which Jonesy kept a handy supply of rolled bandages torn from retired bed linens.

Frowning at the single kettle—only half-full of water—on the stove, Sally lifted the lid on the water keg in the corner. "Damn. Almost empty. We'll need more water than that."

"It's Andy's job to..." Jonesy started to say.

At that moment their eyes met in mutual dismay—in all the excitement, no one had given a second thought to Andy's welfare.

 _A fourteen-year-old boy just killed a man... a tragedy what never shoulda happened…_

Jonesy was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea: Should he find and comfort the boy... or should his priority be the wounded men?

Sally recovered first, seeing the agonized indecision in the old man's face.

"I'll get the water. You go to Andy."

Jonesy was shaking his head. "That young 'un needs motherin' right now..."

"Gunfighting's a man's business, Jonesy. What he needs is moral support and justification from _another man_. You helped raise him... he'll listen to you."

"He's only a kid, Sally..."

"Not any more."

 _(_ _ **Gracie's observations...**_ _For months Andy'd been floundering in the roiling seas of early adolescence... sometimes clinging to the last shreds of childhood, at other times finding himself thrust unexpectedly into the role of an adult. Being catapulted from one extreme to the other in a single day was more than he could readily assimilate. It was like there were two different people inside his head, wrestling for control. Slim and Jonesy had explained, to the best of their ability, what was happening to him... and why. Jess had provided a somewhat more graphic description of post-pubescent mechanics._

 _Despite Slim's desire to preserve Andy's innocence as long as possible, it was impossible to disregard the vagaries of nature and the brutalities of mankind on the frontier, where life was cheap and often ended in violence. Still, nothing could have prepared Andy for the harsh reality of taking the life of another human being.)_

 **Thirty minutes earlier…** Inside Andy's head the events of the morning had telescoped into a whirling orb of noise and motion and color... with the same disorientation one often experiences when waking from a particularly fitful dream. Except it wasn't a dream… he'd just killed a man. The day was bright and cloudless… so why did everything within sight seem to be shrouded in fog?

With everyone's attention turned to Jess, Andy felt he'd suddenly gone invisible. Standing there in front of the barn, he looked down at the rifle in his hands, wondering what to do with it. With himself. He needed to escape the commotion somehow, but he just kept standing there, numb and immobilized. How could everything look so peaceful... so... _normal_?

He saw the stage passengers climbing back aboard without having set foot in the house. He watched while Mild Bill, Opie and Mose dragged those two bodies over by the water trough before going to unhitch the stage team. Maybe if he went up to his Thinking Rock… but no… it was too cold and he wasn't wearing a jacket. Looking up, he noticed that the doors to the haymow were still open.

 _I'd better get up there an' close 'em before Slim has a fit... Opie should've done it before he an' Kim came down…_

Turning to reenter the barn, Andy glanced at the horses tied outside the corral—the ones the intruders had ridden in. He idly wondered what happened to saddle horses and their gear when their owners were killed or incarcerated? Who'd come to claim then? Aside from the two tied-up men who'd finally gone quiet, the barn itself was empty and dark. It came to Andy that the loft was as good a place as any to sit and think for a while—quiet, peaceful, warm and out of the wind. Carrying the rifle, he ascended the ladder.

 **Loose hay had been stacked** to the rafters on either side of a path running the length of the ridgepole, just wide enough to permit access to the loading doors. When he got there, Andy was disconcerted to find Kim still there. Why had he stayed? Sitting cross-legged far enough back that he couldn't be seen from below, Kim's hands rested loosely against his thighs, palms up, as he gazed out into the distance beyond the yard and the house. Even though he'd surely had to've heard Andy joining him, he didn't acknowledge it.

 _Oh... he must be 'meditating'... he told me about that weeks back—said that was pretty much what I do at my Thinkin' Rock. But his eyes are open so maybe he isn't. But maybe he is an' I don't wanna intrude..._

Silence is the better part of discretion, Andy decided, arranging himself in a similar position nearby. Muted, unobtrusive sounds drifted up to their aerie—bare branches rattling in the cottonwood tree near the corral, the occasional squawk of a chicken or snort of a horse, the _cree_ of a circling hawk, the chink of harness brasses on the coach horses. Skeins of windshifted smoke from the house chimneys mingled the odor of burnt bacon with horse smell coming up from below and the sweet scent of hay surrounding them.

On the one hand Andy was grateful that Kim wasn't one of those people compelled to fill up a void with words. On the other hand... _I have to talk about it to someone. I can't pretend it didn't happen. How can he just sit there... like nothing's wrong... when_ everything's _wrong? Wonder if he's in some kinda shock—here, but not here? Like when we brought him home that first day and Jonesy said 'lights're on but ain't no one home.'_

Closing his eyes, he willed the turmoil in his head to stratify into sequential layers. Not too long ago Jonesy'd taught him that the best way to deal with a big knotty problem was visualize it as a stack of hotcakes... eat the one on top, one bite at a time, before worrying about the next layer. He hadn't quite got it then but he sure did now. Might as well start with that first bite...

 **With the traffic lane cleared of corpses,** Mild Bill, Opie and Mosewere moving as quickly as they could to finish harnessing the fresh relays. Jonesy asked if they'd noticed where Andy'd gone.

"Inta the barn," Bill said. "Reckon he's a mite upsot. Soon's we get the stage off, me an' Opie'll load up the bodies an' them other two yahoos on the spring wagon an' truck 'em on in to town. Figger the sooner we get 'em to the sheriff's office, the better."

"How're Slim and Jess?" Mose asked. "They gonna be okay?"

"Think so, yeah. Listen… soon's you get to town can you get word to Young Doc we need 'im right away?"

"Sure thing, Jonesy."

 **Pausing to allow his eyes** to adjust to the dimness of the barn's interior, Jonesy noted the captives seated on the floor, trussed up like Christmas turkeys with legs bound and arms tied behind their backs. He'd seldom seen more miserable specimens and it was a toss-up which one was worse off.

The one Sally had beaten snuffled through his broken nose, blinking up at Jonesy through swollen bloodshot eyes. Purple bruises mottled his face and neck and a miasma of chicken manure permeated his personal space. His compadre in crime twitched, drooled and mumbled incoherently, unfocused eyes rolling in different directions.

Ignoring their piteous mewling, Jonesy scanned the dark recesses for any sign of Andy. The only other inhabitants were a quartet of hopeful hens that had followed Jonesy inside... just in case he dropped something edible. Jonesy's mounting worry was tempered by Sally's words— _you helped raise him_. Taking a mental giant step backwards, he ticked off Andy's favorite childhood hidey holes... and turned his face toward the loft.

"Andy? You up there?"

A muffled 'yeah' floated down from above.

"Well... could you come down, please?"

"Why?"

"Because I wanna talk to you. You wouldn't make an old man climb the ladder, would you?"

At first Jonesy thought he was going to be ignored. Presently, though, he heard booted feet treading lightly above. Sprinkles of chaff and hay dust filtered through gaps in the planks and twinkled in the sunbeams slanting through the barn door. Andy came down the ladder slowly. When he reached the bottom, he stopped, both hands gripping the rung in front of his face.

"Andy?" Jonesy said again.

When the boy didn't respond, the man moved to stand behind him and put his hands on Andy's rigid shoulders.

"Andy... listen to me. Don't you worry about your brother and Jess... they're gonna be alright." Slipping a hand around Andy's arm, Jonesy gently pried his fingers away from the rung and pulled him around so that they were almost facing.

"Miss Sally an' me're gonna have to do a little doctorin' to hold 'em over until Young Doc can get out here... an' we sure could use your help..."

"What can I do?" Andy's eyes were suspiciously bright, his lower lip betraying a quiver.

"Let's go on to the house."

 _Too bad them stage passengers hadda see that gunfight... not for them, but on account a they'll be tellin' tales when they get to town. An' the last thing the folks in Laramie need to hear about is Jess Harper bein' involved in another gunfight. For sure, Slim'll be hearin' about that from Sheriff Corey!_

 _What a day! An' it ain't even noon yet!_


	25. Chapter 25

_Chapter 25_ _ **—**_ **REMORSE**

" _ **People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but**_

 _ **people will never forget how you made them feel."**_ _(Maya Angelou)_

 **As Jonesy returned to the kitchen** with Andy in tow, Sally was adding a little hot tea to the already-warmed brandy in a white china mug. She struggled to hide her concern… the boy's face was absolutely blank, his eyes lifeless.

"Andy... you could do with a clean-up..."

Turning like an automaton, the boy headed for the washroom.

"Has he said anything?" Sally whispered.

"No. He's too rattled. First thing we need is to get him an' Slim off by themselves so they can talk."

"I'm sure he'll want to see Jess first…"

"If we're lucky, Jess'll be passed out," Jonesy said glumly. "Too bad we can't put a twitch on 'im when he needs doctorin'."

Sally shrugged, grinning. "Once he gets on the outside of this he shouldn't give us too much trouble. You need a better hiding place for your hooch, Jonesy!"

Jonesy leaned over for a sniff. "Whew! That oughta do it!"

"Laudanum would've been better but we seem to be out."

 **Andy returned looking somewhat refreshed** and the trio repaired to the bedroom.

Slim was sitting right where Sally'd left him, maintaining pressure on Jess' leg. "You sure took your time," he groused, only partly in jest. "We were just about to get up a game of checkers..." Jess' eyes were closed.

"How's he doing?" she asked, ignoring the barb.

"Hanging in there but starting to wander a little."

Pale but composed, Andy went around to the other side of the bed and knelt down, clasping Jess' left hand in his and raking the others with a defiant glance that challenged any commentary about childish gestures. Slim's eyes flickered to his little brother. He so wanted to hug the boy and assure him everything was going to be all right… but…

Just then Jess' eyelids blinked open. He craned his head first towards Slim then toward Andy as if to reassure himself of their _live_ presence even though both were maintaining physical contact.

"We're right here, pard. Rest easy," Slim said.

Jonesy and Sally exchanged glances in mutual recognition of the emotionally-charged atmosphere. The display of compassion on Slim's part confirmed the presence of a thoroughly established affection that persisted in spite of their recent divisiveness. Slim was hurting, too... but he was more concerned for Jess' welfare than his own. Whatever the reasons for his recent animosity towards Jess, they were inconsequential at this moment.

Jonesy held Jess up while Sally coaxed him into downing the alcohol-laced tea to the last drop. In the meantime she caught Slim's eye and inclined her head ever so slightly toward Andy, willing Slim to get the message.

" **Slim… Jonesy and I need room to work,"** Sally commented. "Why don't you and Andy go the kitchen. Keep as still as you can and keep pressure on that shoulder until we can get to you."

He got it. "Yeah… I think you're right." Slim stood up stiffly and gestured to his brother. "Come on, Andy. There's nothing we can do to help and anyway we're just in the way."

Clearly Andy wasn't wanting to leave Jess' side.

Sally decided a verbal nudge was in order. "I'd sure be grateful if you could keep your brother company and maybe keep him from moving around too much before he loses any more blood than he already has."

Reminding Andy of the fact that Slim was also hurt seemed to resolve his dilemma. He stood up. "Yes, m'am."

 **Sally gently closed the door** behind them. While waiting for the brandy to work its magic on Jess, she and Jonesy set to work sponging off the majority of the coagulated blood. He hadn't quite gone under when Jonesy uncapped the bottle of carbolic solution and soaked a gauze pad. "Brace yourself, son... this is gonna sting some..."

Jess submitted to Jonesy's ministrations with uncharacteristic meekness, at one point losing consciousness for a few minutes. Jonesy seized the opportunity to swab and irrigate the wound. He was tying off the dressing by the time Jess started coming around. Making a feeble attempt to push himself up onto his elbows, Jess fell back, grimacing.

"Leg hurts... broke again?"

"No, Jess... you were shot." Sally had a firm grip on his ankle, preventing him from moving the leg. "Be still."

"Oh... yeah... that's right..."

He clutched at Jonesy's sleeve. "Did I get 'im?"

"Well, he's as dead as he's ever gonna be," Jonesy answered evasively. Now wasn't the time for a lengthy explanation.

"Thought I missed the second one..."

"No... he's history, too."

"Good." Seemingly satisfied, Jess closed his eyes again.

 **Yes… Slim'd got the message** loud and clear—his little brother was in desperate need of assurance that he wasn't some kind of soulless monster. He made a conscious effort to pull his thoughts together. The discussion they were about to undertake couldn't be put off, despite his own pain and light-headedness. Instead of adjourning to the kitchen table as Sally'd suggested, he motioned toward the rockers flanking the fireplace. With a fresh towel in place and a folded blanket draped over the rocker's back to protect the cushions from bloodstains, he settled in.

Unasked, Andy added a few sticks of wood to build up the fire before claiming the facing rocker. Unable to look at Slim directly, his eyes jerked from one focal point to another in the room.

The subject of shooting and killing someone wasn't one that Slim'd _ever_ contemplated having to address with Andy… and he damned sure didn't want to be doing it now. But here they were… He thought bitterly about how he'd already fallen down on one of his responsibilities as the boy's guardian, and how he couldn't afford to let that happen again. He should've been the one having the birds-and-bees talk with Andy at the appropriate time… but he'd waited too long and Jess'd done it for him. _Not_ in the way Slim would've preferred. For damned sure he wouldn't approve of Jess' version of justification(s) for bloodshed.

" **Andy… look at me.** Let's talk about it…"

The youngster's gaze roamed the room for another minute before finally engaging.

"I shot that man," Andy said flatly. "He's dead."

"I would've done exactly the same. So would Jess."

"I feel kinda sick... and my head's full of... noise." The boy's eyes were suspiciously bright and his lower lip was trembling. "Is it... _normal_... to feel that way?"

"In a perfect world there'd be nothing _normal_ about taking another man's life. But we don't live there, Andy," Slim answered softly. "To answer your question... it's _normal_ to want to protect yourself and the people you care about. It's _normal_ to want revenge for harm done... or wanting to stop someone from doing worse. It's _normal_ to feel bad about killing someone—even if he deserves it."

"Does it ever go away, this feeling?"

"You mean… not believing you did this, wishing it'd never happened?"

"Yeah… I guess so…"

"You want justification for having done it, you're still angry... and you're feeling guilty because you're glad he's dead."

Andy's mouth dropped open. "That's it! Exactly! How did you know?"

"Because that's how I felt the first time. You want to hear about it?"

Andy nodded mutely.

"I was fifteen. Pa and I'd signed on with a cattle drive because we needed the money. We were hit by a raiding party—white men, not Indians. Pa handed me the shotgun and told me to stay put behind the chuck wagon… but if one came close, don't hesitate to blow him out of the saddle. I did what he said… and one of 'em did come close enough. But what happened was I hit his horse square in the chest. It went down and trapped the rider practically right at my feet… I didn't know how bad he was hurt, but he was still conscious…" Slim shuddered and look away briefly. "I'll never forget the look on that man's face right before I shot it off."

"How come you never told this before, Slim?"

"I try not to think about it… had nightmares for years. Ma and Pa had a flaming row over it and she never let me go on a drive again. But see… we had no choice—those men were aiming to kill all of us and take the whole herd."

"I guess you won, huh?"

"If you call losing four of our own a win—one killed outright and three wounded… they died before we could get 'em to the nearest town. Two of the raiders got away and the rest were killed or wounded. The really awful part was that some of our men went around and shot the wounded raiders in the head. Anyway, afterwards I threw up behind the chuck wagon and then cried all night. Pa caught me and lit into me, making it worse. Jonesy was there… he can verify everything I've told you."

Andy was looking a little green. "I almost wish you _hadn't_ told me, now."

"The reason I did is to so you'll understand that sometimes you _have_ to do things you don't want to do… that you _wouldn't_ do under ordinary circumstances. Believe me… I saw a lot worse during the war—things that made me vomit and cry as a grown man. But I got past it and so will you."

"I won't… I'll never forget…"

"No. You won't.

"You know what's really scary, Slim?"

"What?"

"How easy it was..."

Slim hunched his shoulders and winced. "Everyone's capable of violence, Andy. We just don't know that until something happens to drive us to it."

"I wish I could forget it."

"Me, too. But it doesn't work that way. That memory goes to join all those other bad ones you wish you didn't have, but it leaves a scar on your mind as permanent as one on your body. Life goes on and you'll be too busy to think about it unless something happens to bring it up again."

"Will I have to go to jail?"

Slim's eyebrows shot up. "What? No… of course not. Sheriff Corey'll want to know what happened but you're not at fault here. That man would've ended up on a scaffold eventually. Jess's right about one thing—you can't always count on a judge and jury to decide when a man needs killing. Don't repeat that to anyone, though!"

Slim was starting to fade around the edges… not so much from the wound itself, which was relatively minor, but the accumulated stresses of the day so far… and there was a _lot_ of day and a _lot_ of chores left. He tried not to let it show, feeling there was much more to be said, but Andy noticed anyway and stood up anxiously.

"Can I get you anything? Water… coffee?"

"No thanks… I'm good. Well… not _good_ good but I'll manage…"

 **Jess was awake**. "What happened to Slim?" He tried to sit up, but didn't get far with Sally serving as an anchor chain on his right arm. His face was white and strained and he'd broken out in a clammy sweat.

"Caught a ricochet in the shoulder," Jonesy said. "Not for you to worry about... you just need to lay still 'til Young Doc gets here."

Sally was acutely awareof Jess' self-imposed dedication to maintaining a brave front in the face of adversity... to never displaying weakness if he could possibly avoid it—especially not in front of Andy. She also understood that, to some extent, Slim shared this determination. But there were limits to her patience.

"I'm gettin' up!" he countermanded angrily.

Sally hissed at him. "I swear, if you set one foot on the floor I _will_ beat you to a bloody pulp! I mean it, Jess… do _not_ get up or we'll tie your hands to the bedposts."

"I... uh..." Never knowing for sure when Sally was serious, Jess stopped struggling.

"That's better. Jonesy and I have to go out there and take care of Slim. I'll send Andy back in to keep an eye on you."

Slipping out the bedroom door, Sally was pleased to see Andy looking both sad and worried… anything was better than the hollow shell of a boy who'd come in earlier! But before letting him go to Jess, she took him aside.

"He doesn't know what happened to… the second man. Now's probably not a good time to bring it up. All he knows is that the man's dead, understand?"

"Yes m'am. I understand. I won't talk about it."

"Or whatever you and Slim've been discussing, either?"

"No m'am. Not that, either."

 **Jonesy'd gone ahead to prise Slim** out of the rocker, decreeing that the easiest way to get at the injured shoulder would be with him straddling a chair at the kitchen table, directly under the lantern for best visibility. They got him installed just as his legs started to buckle.

While peeling off Slim's now blood-soaked shirt, Sally tried to dismiss the image of Andy's woeful face, Sally thought about her own eight-year-old son. Was there any hope that—by the time Jacob was Andy's age—civilization might have advanced to a point where children weren't forced into killing to survive... as they'd been as recently as six years ago in the waning years of the war? A stifled moan reeled her attention back to Slim, facedown on arms folded across the top rung of the chair while Jonesy tentatively probed to gauge the depth of the bullet.

"Can you get at it?"

Jonesy shrugged. "If I have to... but I'd druther wait an' let Young Doc do it."

"There's no guarantee Fred's even available... and it'll be at least another three or four hours before _anyone_ can get here..."

"Slim... what do _you_ wanna do?" Jonesy asked.

Slim raised his head slightly, forcing the words out. "Go ahead. Done it before."

 **Thirty minutes later** with the projectile successfully extracted, Sally and Jonesy plugged a groggy bandaged Slim back into the rocker by the fire. Propped with pillows stuffed under both arms and covered with a blanket, he drifted into a brandy-induced stupor. Sally returned to the bedroom to find Jess sitting up, more or less alert with Andy somewhere between distressed and aggravated. Either he was in urgent need of the outhouse or Jess'd been giving him a hard time.

"Sorry, Miss Sally. I couldn't make him stay down. Can I go now?"

"I suppose so..."

The boy rabbitted out the door and Sally glowered at Jess. "You'd better not've been ugly to him..."

"He wouldn't tell me nothin'," Jess claimed sullenly. "Just sat there like a lump. Ain't like him."

"He's had an unusually stressful morning, Jess. He doesn't need crap from you, too."

"Somethin's goin' on an' won't nobody tell me nothin'."

"Because there's nothing to tell, numbskull!" Sally was exasperated beyond measure. "God only knows why you put yourself out there in harm's way... and got yourself shot. Matt's sore but he'll be fine. Those cowboys are on their way to jail. The Chinese men are dead. Andy's in a state. We've all missed lunch and I've had enough of your shit!"

"Are you done? 'Cause I'm gettin' outta this bed!" Defiance pouring from every pore, Jess swung his legs out, steadying himself with a hand on a bedpost.

"Fine! Good! Knock yourself out... which you probably will. See if I care!"

 **Sally's voice had risen to an alarming degree** that brought Jonesy shuffling across the parlor.

"Hey... what's goin' on in... _OOF!_ " Colliding with Sally storming out of the bedroom, Jonesy was nearly bowled over.

"Sorry... sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah... but my toes'll never be the same. What's all the yellin' about?"

"That boneheaded mule in there won't listen to reason. Determined to get up no matter what!"

"But he can't walk... he'll hurt himself!" Jonesy attempted to get around her but she barred his path.

"I say let him try. He'll find out right quick he isn't invincible."

As she spoke a hand grappled the doorframe behind her, followed by a sheet-white face as Jess hopped out on one foot and reached for the next support point—the top of Slim's rolltop desk.

"Get outta my way," he wheezed.

Sally backed up two steps, still preventing Jonesy from rendering assistance. Jess gave them a sour look as he gauged distance from the desk to the parlor table. Rallying himself, he made a lunge for it and missed, instead connecting with a chair and crashing to the floor, chair and all, at the feet of the spectators.

 _Reckon this was a bad idea._

 **Not all Jess' reflexes were on hiatus.** Twisting cat-like to avoid landing on his injured leg, his left hip and shoulder bore the brunt of the fall. Whatever pain had receded in the past two hours came flooding back at double the intensity, enough to take his breath away. His thigh felt like there was a red-hot poker stuck in it. Though he didn't black out, his vision went blurry with tears and there was a buzzing in his ears. An entire minute ticked by while he tried to decide if he'd broken anything else.

 _Who's that talkin' behind me? They sound far away... like in a tunnel. I need to blow my nose._

"We can't just leave 'im there..." Jonesy's voice.

"Oh yes we can." Definitely Sally's.

"But..."

A face loomed over him. "His eyes are open. He's breathing. No blood I can see. He got down there by himself. He can figure out a way to get up by himself..."

 _Cold-hearted bitch._

"Why're you bein' so mean to 'im all of a sudden, Sally?" Jonesy again.

"I'm not. I'm just tired of pandering to men who can't be bothered to use common sense and the brains nature gave 'em. That man there should've known better than to try on a gunfight in his condition. He should've known better than to try to walk with a fresh wound in his leg. It's his own stupid fault he's laid out on a cold floor. Maybe after he's had time to think on it he'll be grateful it isn't a marble slab!"

 _How can she talk that long without takin' a breath?_

"How long you aim to leave him there?"

"Until hell freezes over for all I care!"

"Aw... you don't mean that! Can I at least get him a pillow 'n a blanket?"

"No. You may not. Come along... we have work to do." Jess twisted his head up enough to see two pairs of legs walking away.

 _Looks like she really means it. Why's Jonesy lettin' her boss 'im around like that? Just wait'll I'm on my feet... I'll give that woman somethin' to be mad about! But first... I gotta get up..._

 **Trying to get up on his hands** and knees, Jess speedily arrived at the conclusion that that method wasn't going to work—his right leg wasn't cooperating. He then tried rolling over to his right side. The pressure on his damaged thigh was agonizing and he bit back a cry of pain—or at least he _thought_ he'd squelched it. If only he could reach something to pull up on...

"What in hell's name are you doin' down there? Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Jess turned his head up to see Slim's woozy face gazing down at him in consternation. In sheer vexation he banged his head on the floor. Could his predicament get any worse? What else could possibly go wrong? His leg was still stiff and unbending and now had a hole in it. His trigger finger still wasn't as limber as it needed to be. The scab on his shoulder from the glass shard was itching. And now his head was ringing. He closed his eyes and sighed. The floor was cold and so was he.

"What?" Slim's voice.

Jess opened his eyes again. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes you did. It sounded like fu..."

"UP... I need help gettin' UP."

 _There... I admit it. She's right. She's always right, dammit. I can't walk by myself an' I can't get up by myself. I'm hurtin' so bad I can't think on anythin' else but not hurtin'._

 **Two minutes later** —although it seemed like an hour—Sally returned to the parlor and towered over him, hands on hips.

"Give up yet?"

Jess took a very deep breath and attempted to look appropriately contrite... not easy to accomplish when you're supine on the floor and looking up someone's nostrils.

"Uncle," Jess finally ground out.

Sally grinned. "Alrighty then... Jonesy, come here a minute..."

With Jess installed in the other rocker, pillowed and blanketed, he and Slim formed bookends at either side of the fireplace, glaring at each other balefully.

Sally disappeared into the kitchen, returning with sponge, towels and a basin of warm soapy water. Placing the items on the ottoman, she pulled up a straightback chair.

"What are you doing?" Slim asked suspiciously.

"I'm about to wash some feet."

"We havin' a revival or somethin'?" Jess inquired.

"No Jess. It might have escaped your attention, but after roaming the yard and the barn in your bare feet you've acquired a uniform coating of mud, hay and chicken shit. Not to mention horse and cow. You're not getting back in bed with _those_ feet!"

"I ain't gettin' back in bed, period."

"Well... we'll just see about that, won't we?"

 _Why do women always gotta have the last word?_

But he let her wash his feet.

 **A knock at the front door** produced Mild Bill. He and Opie were loaded up and ready to roll. Did Miss Sally have any instructions or messages for town? The old man looked over her shoulder curiously. Sure was odd to see both Slim and Jess snugged up in rockers by the fireplace in the middle of the day. But hey… that was better than seein' 'em laid out on the floor with blankets over their faces!

"I'll walk out with you," Sally said.

As Bill took his place beside Opie in the driver's seat, she handed up a wad of bills.

"What's this for, Miss Sally?"

"You boys've earned a night on the town and then some. This is on me. After you drop off the live jackasses at the jail and chuck out the dead ones at the undertaker's, leave the rig and the horses with Avery at my stable and get yourselves a hotel room..."

Bill tried to hand back the money. "Oh no, m'am. We aim ta be back afore dark in time fer chores... won't make the four o'clock stage, though."

"You'll do no such thing. Stop by Bartlett's... tell Mister Garland what happened and ask if I can borrow Tommy for the afternoon. Between us we can handle whatever needs to be done..."

"You sure?" Bill seemed doubtful.

"Off you go! You might pass Sheriff Corey or Doctor Whatleigh on the way in... Jonesy told Mose to let both of them know what happened as soon as he hit town. Oh... by the way... which one of you made that righteous kill from the loft?"

The two old men looked at each other, mustaches twitching.

"I were up there, Miss Sally," Opie admitted, "but I weren't the one nailed that buzzard... it were that Kim fella."

"Kim? Are you sure it wasn't your shot?"

"No, m'am. I mean yes, m'am... I didn't even get a chance to get one off."

"Neither did I, Miss Sally..." Bill added. "I was gonna... but the boy ran right out in front a me afore I could draw a bead... we sure 'nuff didn't earn this money." He tried to hand it down but Sally backed away, hands up.

"Doesn't matter whether you did or didn't get the shot... you backed us up and that's what counts. You might be retired but you two gents still got juice!" Mild Bill and Opie drove off, beaming at her praise and basking in the glory of her smile.


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter 26 —_ **REGRET**

" _ **No amount of regret can change the past.**_

 _ **No amount of anxiety can change the future."**_ _(Unknown)_

 **Andy'd fled right back up to the loft** … still conflicted but with a clearer understanding of why he'd felt—was _still_ feeling—the way he did. Kim was still up there, curled into a nest he'd made for himself in the hay and apparently asleep. He stirred when Andy poked him in the arm.

"You awake?"

"I am _now_ ," Kim replied irritably, pushing himself upright. "I thought you left."

"I did. Now I'm back."

"Jess and Slim okay?"

"Miss Sally says they will be. They sent for Young Doc anyway."

Kim crawled to the edge of the door. The stage was gone. So were the spring wagon and the dead bodies.

"Those men still down below?"

"Mild Bill and Opie took 'em all to town."

"Anyone looking for me?"

"No."

"What'd you wake me up for, then?" Kim was picking straw out of his hair.

"You an' me are gonna have to help with the afternoon stage. Miss Sally can't do it by herself an' Jonesy can't help."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"I'll show you."

"Oh joy. I can hardly wait."

 **Can I ask you something?"** Andy's voice was dead serious as he abruptly changed topics.

"Sure."

"How do you feel after you kill someone?"

"Excuse me? Just how many people do you think I've killed?"

"Well… you did tell us about that man back in… wherever's that place you're from…"

"That was the first and _only_ time… until today."

"Wait a minute… that was _you_ got that first man, not Opie?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Not to be rude or anything... but you don't act like it's bothering you at all..."

"How do you think I should be acting?"

"I dunno... I guess... not so calm? I mean... I've seen Slim and Jess—even Jonesy—after they've shot people... they look upset—sometimes a little shaky... even sad... but..."

Kim parsed the disjointed statement, understanding the honest question buried in there along with a fear of giving offense. _Lie... or tell the truth?_

"I don't feel anything."

" _Nothing?_ Nothing at all?" Andy's voice held disbelief.

"I didn't _mean_ to kill that man back home. If I'd hesitated, just for a second… if I'd stopped to consider what I was doing, that man would still be alive. But he attacked me first and I reacted."

"What about today?"

"Today was different. Impersonal. I guess that's how snipers can live with themselves. I didn't _want_ to have to shoot to kill but there wasn't any other place to aim. Too low and I would've got Jess in the back, too high and I might've hit all those people on the porch. It doesn't seem fair to kill someone who doesn't even know you're there, but he most likely would've got Jess with his second shot."

"Why didn't you shoot that second man before he had a chance to shoot Jess?"

Kim spread his hands. "I warned you all I wasn't good with guns. That first shot was a lucky one. I might not've been so lucky on the second try and hit Jess by mistake. I guess I just froze…"

 **Andy felt a deep disappointment.** "Basically, you just chickened out, is that it?"

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

"There's another way?" Andy challenged. He knew he was being irrational… blaming the man for _not_ shooting the man who actually shot Jess. But he could've prevented that from happening if he'd tried…

"Let's just say that I remembered how an ill-considered reaction got me into all this trouble in the first place."

"I don't understand..."

"I don't expect you to. Maybe now your people understand why it's so dangerous for me to be around here. What happened last year was just the beginning. The trouble it... _I_... caused isn't over yet. I'm still separated from my family. There're still bad people after me. What happened here today will happen again with others..."

"Those four white men were after Jess, not you," Andy reminded him. "Countin' the two last week that Miss Sally told about."

"I imagine they'll spread the word around town that he's off limits."

"This ain't... isn't... the first time bad men've come lookin' for Jess. Why don't you feel the same way about the man you killed today as the one last year?" Andy persisted.

"I don't know." _How do you explain emptiness?_

 **A chorus of welcoming whinnies** from the pasture and the corral alerted the compound to arrivals on the road. A buckboard appeared in the curve of the road and pulled up to the front of the house... Mister and Missus Bartlett and their son Tom—Andy's best friend. Sally came out the front door to greet them just as Marilyn nimbly hopped down without waiting for an assist. Tommy handed down several baskets and the women went into the house. Tommy jumped out to help his father unhitch their team and tie them near the trough just outside the corral.

"Mose or Bill musta stopped by their place to tell 'em we needed help with the afternoon stage," Andy mused.

Keeping still, the two in the loft listened to the murmur of voices below. Presently father and son reappeared with lead ropes and bait buckets filled with dried corn, heading over to the pasture.

Kim took a deep breath, glad of the distraction. "Don't you need to show them which horses to catch?"

"Nah. Mister Gar's done this before. He knows whichever one he picks, its partner'll follow."

"Really?"

"Oh sure. Slim's real careful about pairing 'em up equally. After a while they get to be pards, just like people... watch."

Sure enough, when the older man had clipped a lead to the halter of a broad-quartered bay and started bringing it to the gate, an almost identical animal tagged along. Same with the smaller, lighter-bodied horse Tommy had selected for the lead team. Once in the corral, they began the prep process beginning with brushdowns.

"How did they know not to use any of the saddle horses in the pasture?" Kim asked.

"You can't tell the difference between saddle marks and harness marks?"

"Never thought about it."

"You've never harnessed a horse before?" Andy was incredulous.

"No. Someone else always did it. I wouldn't know where to connect everything."

Andy marveled over this incredible admission. "I'd better go down. I can get started on my other chores while they're takin' care of the stage.

"I would've thought Slim'd give you a pass, considering..."

"Haven't you noticed? He _never_ gives me a pass, no matter what."

"Why do you think he's so hard on you?"

"Dunno." Andy shrugged. "I know he loves me, but you wait an' see... when we go back inside, first thing he'll ask is if I done my chores. I know he will. You comin'? You can't stay up here all night."

"I think I'll just stay up here a while."

 **While her menfolk attended to outside business,** Marilyn Bartlett rolled up her sleeves and swept through the little ranch house with the efficiency of a prairie wife accustomed to running a large household. Shooing Jonesy into a bedroom for a nap, she took over the kitchen and bossed Sally around as she would one of her own daughters. The younger woman didn't mind a bit, grateful to have been relieved of decision-making stress if only for a short time.

Between them the house was restored to order, supper was simmering on the stove, and laundry sorted and ready to be dealt with the next day. In the parlor Slim and Jess dozed on. In anticipation of the four o'clock stage, Marilyn had whipped up a batch of scones. As the hour drew closer, with the 'company' coffeepot gurgling on a back burner, the woman removed her apron and directed Sally to do the same and take a seat at the kitchen.

"We've earned a sit-down and a chin-wag!" Marilyn declared over a plate of warm pastries and mugs of fresh hot coffee laced with liberal splashes of her homemade Irish cream whiskey from a brown jug.

Garland Bartlett was proud of his wife's capabilities, claiming there was no duty on their ranch she couldn't perform as well as any man. Sharing Sally's disdain for the usual housewifely topics such as hairstyles, fashion, sewing, preserving, cake baking and home decor, whenever they got together Marilyn kept to interests they had in common—basically, children, men and horses. Very sensibly, she avoided bringing up any mention of Sally's marital prospects, or lack thereof. An excellent horsewoman in her own right, Marilyn rode astride in divided skirts and, like Sally, refused to wear corsets. At home she often wore pantaloons she called 'bloomers', which had been in style when she was a girl.

"Now, I want to hear every little detail of today's hoedown... it's a refreshing change from breakin' up squabbles between rugrats all the livelong day."

Sally laughed. "You don't know how glad I am that you decided to come, Marilyn. But who's minding your brood while you're here?"

"Left Emmy Lou in charge. Silly twit's pregnant again. Needs the experience in riding herd on a bunch a kids and I needed a break."

"How many does that make now?"

"Ten altogether, countin' Emmy's toddler and the one she's fixin' to foal. I know people probably tell you you're lucky, havin' just the one... but I do love me a houseful a young 'uns."

"Which is easier to raise... boys or girls?"

"Girls... definitely! Why do you ask? Plannin' on a little brother or sister for Jacob? Oh, that's right... I forgot... you adopted that Indian child, didn't you? Are you still happy with that decision?"

"Very much so, yes. I don't expect I'll be having any more babies myself so it's lovely having one of each."

 **Sally embarked on a generalized accounting** of the morning's fracas. At her description of the bathroom battle, Marilyn was laughing too hard to be mortified at the idea of a nude Sally whomping on a villain with a bathbrush.

"I'da paid my good butter-and-egg money to see that!" the woman roared, dabbing at her face with her balled up apron while Sally got up to take a quick peek at her patients. Both appeared to be soundly and comfortably asleep in their respective rockers, facing each other by the fireplace.

Returning to her place at the table, Sally admitted that, in retrospect, the whole affair seemed comical... if it hadn't been so frightening. "And, you know... happening so soon after the other attack last week..."

"Ah yes... Gar told me about that, of course." Marilyn jerked her head toward the parlor. "They fast asleep?"

"In brandied dreamland," Sally assured her.

Marilyn leaned forward to speak in what she thought was a suitably conspiratorial whisper—but, accustomed as she was to shouting over a bunch of squabbling children all day, her 'whisper' wasn't all that secretive.

"If you would indulge an old married gal's prurient curiosity... is he any good?"

Sally was confused. "Is who any what?"

Marilyn rolled her eyes. "Jess, of course. Is he as good in the sack as he looks on the hoof?"

Sally felt her face flame. The cup in her hand rattled alarmingly. "I... uh... no... you don't... that is... you've got the wrong idea!"

"Oh come, come... it's no great secret about you and Slim... but I wouldn't have passed up an opportunity for a crack at Jess Harper, either..."

"Marilyn... please... it wasn't like that. No no no no no..."

"Everyone knows you brought that Compton girl out from town."

Sally moaned. _"Everyone?"_ she echoed faintly.

"We figured it was for Andy's tutor—what's his name, Kim—since he hasn't been able to get to town himself... that certainly was charitable on your part, Sal." Marilyn sat back triumphantly. "You don't need to say another word, girl. I can tell from the look on your face it must've been pretty damned wonderful. Lucky thing! I'm sure Kim and that girl enjoyed themselves, too."

Sally groaned.

" **I just realized I haven't seen** Kim today," Marilyn continued blithely. "Such a nice young man... is he around? And Andy... this must have been quite a traumatic experience for him."

Which was when Sally realized she hadn't seen either one in many hours... and that somehow she'd failed to explain who was actually responsible for the two dead men. Evidently Marilyn assumed it had been Slim and Jess. Suddenly (and uncharitably) Sally found herself wishing the Bartletts a speedy departure. The news would get out in due course... especially after those stage people blabbed what they'd seen. And Sheriff Corey would be paying a call in the not too distant future.

"Oh... they're around here somewhere. Kim might've taken Andy on a nature walk to settle him down some."

"A walk? As cold as it is?"

"Well... you know... something to do with biology study..."

A distant rumbling announced the arrival of the westbound four o'clock stage. And in his rocker by the fireplace, Slim Sherman wasn't quite as asleep as he'd pretended to be.

 _When you wake up, Jess Harper, I'm going to tear out your liver._

 **With the sun already lowering** in the western sky, Mose climbed down to direct the two passengers into the house before joining the Bartletts in switching out teams. Working together, Andy and the Bartletts tended the spent team and stripped the four unclaimed saddle horses before turning them out, then barrowed hay and feed out to the pasture. Announcing he'd take care of milking, Garland Bartlett collected the cow, the bull and the orphan calves and impounded them in their respective byres. Andy and Tommy teamed up to collect late-day eggs, herd the chickens into their pens and make the rounds of Andy's caged pets. Presently the father reappeared carrying milk pails toward the house while the son backed their team up to their wagon.

 **The patients in the parlor** were beginning to show signs of rousing when Bartlett tapped lightly on the kitchen door and came in with the milk.

"We've done about all we can for today, Sally."

"Garland, you're a prince among men! I don't know how we'd manage without you coming to our rescue every five minutes."

"Tom don't mind comin' back in the mornin' if you need him..."

"Old Bill and Opie should be back in time for the morning stage but tell him thanks all the same."

"Well, all right then. Mother, you 'bout ready to head home?"

"Be right there... now where's my jacket?"

I'm grateful to you, Marilyn... more than you'll ever know," Sally said as the older woman gathered up her black skirts and climbed aboard the spring wagon.

"No trouble at all... as they say, _many hands make light work_."

"Keep an eye on that chicken and dumplings," Marilyn called over her shoulder as they rolled away. "Don't let it scorch."


	27. Chapter 27

_Chapter 27 —_ **LOST MEN**

" _ **Good people will give you happiness. Bad people will give you experience. The worst**_

 _ **people will give you a lesson. The best people will give you memories."**_ _(unknown)_

" **Ollie ollie oxen free!"** Clad in Slim's sheepskin coat, Sally was standing in front of the barn, looking up with hands on hips. I know you're up there, Kim!"

"Coming." Kim sighed and stood up. After six weeks of inactivity, his descent was deliberate and cautious and his arms rubbery by the time he reached the last rung.

"Where've you been?" Sally demanded.

"Right here. Well... up there..."

"Alone? Since this morning?"

"Mostly. Until Andy came up."

"Did he seem all right to you?"

"No, he didn't."

"What about you. Are you all right?"

After a long pause, Kim looked away. "No, Sally. I'm not."

Her manner changed immediately from imperious to anxious. "Why? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Not physically."

Sally resisted the urge to touch him. "I'm sorry... we had to take care of Slim and Jess first..."

"I understand. They gonna be okay?"

"Yes. Nothing too serious."

"That's good."

"What, exactly, are you feeling right now?"

Kim gave her a long searching look.

"Lost."

Before Sally could question what Kim meant by that, Andy came flying back into the barn. Skidding to a halt, he was shaking so hard the words came out garbled.

"Help... help... come... quick... fighting... Jonesy..."

"Whoa! Slow down..." Sally grabbed him by the shoulders. "Who's fighting?"

"Je... Je... Jess... Sl... Sl... im... gonna kill each other... gotta stop 'em..."

Woman and boy raced for the door. Kim's knees slowly buckled and he sank to the floor, unable to face any more drama.

 **No sooner had Slim heard** the door close behind Sally than he tore into Jess, who was just coming around to full wakefulness.

"You damned fool! You got a death wish or something?"

"Huh... what?" Jess stammered, taken aback by the other's verbal attack.

"You coulda got Andy killed with that stunt!"

Jess shook his head in an effort to dispel the cobwebs. "I ain't followin'..."

"What in hell did you think you were doing... coming out into the open like that?"

"I... uh... someone hadda try an' stop those..."

"You should've known he'd come right out after you."

"He who? Whaddya talkin' about?" Jess was genuinely baffled.

"Andy, of course... soon as you were hit he broke cover."

"He was 'sposed to stay put... I wasn't thinking..." Jess defended himself.

"You didn't think. You _never_ think... that's the trouble with you..."

"Slim... why're you yellin' at me...?"

Slim struggled to his feet, steadying himself against the mantel. "Andy killed a man today because of you."

"You mean… _another_ one? After the ones me and Opie got?"

"Opie didn't get the first man. Kim did."

"Kim? _Our_ Kim?"

"How many of 'em are there?"

"But that _second_ man… I was _sure_ I nailed 'im… right before I blacked out..."

"No… you missed but Andy didn't. When you went down he blazed outta the barn and blew the guy away!" Slim was working himself up into towering rage. "You put the gun in his hands. It's because of you he thinks he's man enough to fight..."

 **Jess pushed himself out of the rocker,** balancing precariously on his uninjured leg. "Slim... I'm really sorry... I had no idea..."

"Sorry isn't cuttin' it." Slim wanted to hit Jess in the worst way... but they were separated by the width of the ottoman. "I've tried to shelter my brother from this kind of violence..." he said bitterly. "But it's too late... he wants to be just like you... and now he thinks he can..."

"You can't keep him wrapped up in cotton wool forever!" Jess protested. "He's gotta grow up an' smell the gunpowder just like you an' me did."

Slim was livid. "Andy's gonna grow up to be a gentleman, you hear me?... an educated man... not like..."

"Go ahead, say it..." Jess spat. "Not like some worthless no-hope gunhawk like me!"

"If the boot fits..." Slim said. "And not only that, you traitorous two-timing..."

" _Two-timin'?"_

"...back-stabbing..."

" _Back-stabbin'?_ "

"Is there an echo in this room?"

Jonesy came rushing around the corner from the kitchen, brandishing a rattan rug beater. "Simmer down, you two!"

"You keep outta this," Slim snarled.

"Yeah... back off," Jess added. "Man calls me traitor, he'd better be ready to back it up!"

"Anytime, you little..."

 **Jess threw the first punch** and immediately lost his balance—at the same time forgetting the obstacle between him and Slim. The balled up fist meant for Slim's jaw instead connected with his bandaged shoulder as Jess pitched over the ottoman. Forward momentum propelled him head first against the taller, heavier man's solar plexus. Slim crumpled backwards and their combined weight shattered the rocker. Rolling around on the floor, they fought in earnest despite having only three good arms and three good legs between them.

" _BOYS!"_ Jonesy danced around them, indiscriminately thwacking the rug beater on whatever portion of anatomy presented itself. _"STOPIT! STOPIT! STOPIT!_

Neither one was able to gain an advantage as neither was able to get to his feet. However, each had acquired weaponry in the form of chair parts—Slim with half a runner and Jess with a splintered, sharp-pointed rung. Both were drawing blood although—fortunately—neither had strength enough to inflict any significant damage on the other. Beyond intelligible speech, they made up for it with a variety of frighteningly animalistic grunts and bellows. Neither had on a shirt.

Clattering through the kitchen door with Andy on her heels, Sally spied an empty bucket on the counter. Shoving it under the faucet of the barrel cistern, she yelled at Andy to find another bucket and go fill it from the pump outside. Between Jonesy hollering and the two combatants howling at each other, the racket in the parlor was deafening. Sally toted the first bucket of tepid water around the corner just as Slim got a chokehold on Jess.

" **Now why didn't I think of that?"** Jonesy said approvingly as he and Sally surveyed the battleground. It had taken two additional drenchings of ice cold well water to end the engagement. Both men lay on their backs a few feet apart, stunned and shivering. Andy'd stood unmoving on the sideline until Sally'd gently guided him to a chair at the kitchen table. He was still sitting there as if turned to stone, staring straight ahead with his hands clasped in his lap when she and Jonesy had retreated to the kitchen for a whispered consultation. Jonesy shot her a questioning glance—could they talk with the boy in the room?

"Way too late to stuff that genie back in the lamp," Sally counseled. "He might as well be party to anything we've got to discuss. Who started it this time? Not that it matters."

"Slim did. But Jess socked 'im first."

"Do you know _what_ started it?"

"Same old bone..." Jonesy nodded toward the boy. "Slim feared he almost lost Andy today an' that made 'im fightin' mad. Took it out on Jess. Ain't the first time... but _this_ time it went too far. Reckon they're busted up for good now."

Sally regarded him thoughtfully. "Maybe not. They're too old to take to the woodshed, but no one's ever too old for a 'come to Jesus' meeting... and you're just the man for the job."

"Who? Me? They ain't gonna listen to a worn-out ole coot like me..." Jonesy gave a doleful nod.

"Sure as hell they're not going heed a woman. No... it has to be you. And it has to be tonight, so start working on your sermon, Reverend Jones, while we patch 'em up again."

Andy's ominously calm voice broke in. "Miss Sally's right. But it's only fair I get to say my piece, too... because if Jess leaves..."

An abrupt realization dawned on the two adults. The normally mild-mannered youngster was exhibiting a trait heretofore seen only in the older brother—a cold fury needing only a match to touch off a firestorm.

"You're absolutely right, Andy," Sally put in hastily. "And we'll see to it you get your chance. But first... you could do us a really big favor..."

"Sure, Miss Sally..."

"Go back out to barn and tell Kim he'll have to postpone his nervous breakdown until a more convenient time..."

"His what?"

"Never mind. Just tell him we need him."

"Okay."

" **Young Doc shoulda been here by now,"** Jonesy groused as they maneuvered first Slim and then Jess into chairs at opposite ends of the parlor table. Their respective compression bandages had held surprisingly well, considering the recent acrobatics. Pink was the prevailing color—leakage from unstitched wounds combined with bloody noses, cuts and scrapes... diluted with successive torrents of water. Pink runnels streamed off both men to form pink puddles on the floorboards.

"First order of business, dry clothes," Sally observed. "Jonesy, see if you can find a nightshirt for Jess and longjohn bottoms for Matt."

"No nightshirt," Jess swore. "Longjohns..."

"People in hell want ice water," Sally countered. "Jonesy has to stitch up your leg... and Matt's shoulder. We can't wait for Fred any longer."

Jonesy returned with the items while Sally again retrieved the medical kit. Slim reassumed the position on the chair, remaining stoicly silent as Jonesy carefully plied the curved needle and silk sutures. In the meantime Sally dipped towel after towel in carbolic solution to sponge off all the new seepages. As the replacement bandage was wound into place, Slim indicated he wanted to remain sitting quietly at the table for a few minutes—long enough to recoup before having to get up and move again.

The medical team moved to the other end of the table, where Jonesy applied his needlework skills to Jess' leg while Sally held it steady, propped on another chair. Plainly Jess was in a great deal of pain but there was no way he was going to admit it and let Slim get one up on him.

" **I 'spose you're mad at me, too,"** Jess finally muttered. Sally obviously wasn't disposed to dispensing any sympathy.

"Me? Mad? Whatever makes you think so?" she retorted, dripping with sarcasm. "Just because you two cretins have undone three hours' worth of care in five minutes? Just because Andy's probably been scarred for life at the sight of the people closest to him attempting to annihilate each other? Just because this house has been thoroughly trashed for the second time in one day? Why would I be mad?"

Slim was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Jess, not so much.

"Why do I always get the blame for everything?" he complained, a little louder than he'd intended.

"Stupid is as stupid does!" Sally ground back. "You had no call to jump out there and play hero. You're out of practice and out of shape..."

"They were headin' for the barn... I hadda protect..."

"Bullshit! They'd had enough. They were going for their horses by the corral."

"They woulda escaped!"

"So what? And even if they _had_ tried for the barn, there were three _other_ men and a boy in there in addition to you. All of you armed. Who elected you leader of the pack?"

"But I..."

"SHUT UP... both of you!" Jonesy's curt command caught everyone short. He'd finished wrapping the new bandage around Jess' leg and was tying off the ends.

"Have I got your attention? Good. Now listen up." He turned to Slim.

" **Andy's gonna be back in here** in a minute or so. Did you get said what needed to be said?"

"I think we did, yes…"

"As for you..." Jonesy swiveled toward Jess. "You got too much influence over that boy as it is, so you need to back off an' let Slim handle this mess."

"I'll back off, all right... right out the door!" Jess hissed.

"Don't start that crap again. We been down this trail a coupla times before an' Slim always gave ya the benefit of the doubt. Seems to me you could do the same for him."

"Seems to me y'all would understand why it's best we take ourselves an' our troubles away from here. You said so yourself."

The diatribe was suspended as the side door opened to admit Kim. He advanced a few steps and stopped, taking in the scene... broken furniture, wet floor strewn with red- and pink-streaked clothing, towels and bandages, the medical kit open on the table, Jess and Slim's battered faces.

"Where the heck have you been?" Sally barked ungraciously. "And why're you wet? And where's Andy?"

Now didn't seem a good time to explain he'd been busy horking up his guts... or that Andy'd kindly volunteered to rake away the soiled straw while he'd splashed himself clean at the trough.

"Andy went to the outhouse. You wanted me for something?"

"We're having a meeting. Better put on a dry shirt."


	28. Chapter 28

_Chapter 28_ _ **—**_ **COMING TO JESUS**

" _ **Friendship must never be buried under the weight of misunderstanding."**_ _(Sri Chinmoy)_

 **Slim shifted in his chair,** favoring Jess with a black look and a low growl. "What did you mean by _'we'_?"

Jess jerked his head toward Kim. "Him an' me. With both of us gone wouldn't be no cause for folks comin' 'round here shootin' up the place an' maybe hurtin' someone."

Slim sought to control his shock but it was evident in his expression as his eyes swept the table and lit on Jonesy. "You know anything about this?"

"No. But I had a feelin' it was comin'."

"Sally?"

"Ditto."

Lingering momentarily on Kim, Slim's hard gaze skipped to Jess, who was looking sicker by the minute. Enough compassion edged around his anger to enable him to moderate his tone.

"Didn't it occur to you to talk this over with me first? That I might not _want_ you to leave... for a lot of reasons?"

"That's what Kim said. We talked about it some... an' I said I'd think on it."

"Oh... so you two've been planning this for a while?" Not so moderate this time.

Before Jess could answer, Jonesy interrupted with another volley. "Here's somethin' I'll bet you _ain't_ thought through, son. If you leave, Andy's liable to light out after you. He was ready to do it before... an' now you've learned him how to shoot, he thinks he's man enough for life on the drift. Want _that_ on your conscience?"

"I wouldn't let 'im!" Jess mumbled.

"You couldn't stop 'im," Jonesy stated flatly. "He's a fourteen-year-old boy what's been kept on a checkrein his whole life so far. You represent freedom... an' adventure. He'd throw away everythin' to follow you. You think you can protect him an' yourself, too?"

Slim turned to Kim. "Anything you'd like to add? Were you planning on giving notice... or just sneaking off in the night?"

 **Sally'd been monitoring Kim** out of the corner of her eye, afraid he'd be unable to cope with the force of nature that was Slim Sherman on a tear. But the man now facing Slim at the table wasn't the defeated individual she'd earlier left in the barn. From some hidden reserve of resiliency he'd summoned the will to contest the allegations being hurled his way.

"It's true we discussed the pros and cons of staying or leaving. Jess has a valid point. Both of us've brought trouble into your house. If we go, the danger goes. That's where the similarity ends. His relationship to you, his situation, is entirely different from mine. I have a place in the world where I'm supposed to be... and this isn't it. Jess' place is here. Evidently everyone else in this room knows this and takes it for granted... except Jess."

Slim, Jonesy and Sally all began babbling at once. Kim held up a hand to silence them. "I'm not done." The voices trickled off.

"Speaking for myself, I'm tired of running. If given a choice—and it _is_ Slim's choice, after all—I'd prefer to stay and do what I promised to do... but there's factors to consider aside from being killed or captured."

"What other factors?" Slim queried.

"My family has a team of attorneys working on exculpatory evidence. If the court declares justifiable homicide I'll be free to return home."

"So you might leave before you're done with Andy?"

"Doubt it. Even if that happens it might take weeks for that information to be disseminated... in the meantime..."

"Yeah... you're right about that. It's the same with those warrants on Jess," Slim said. "Though he's been exonerated of all charges, there's too many bounty hunters at large who don't know that..."

"Pessimist!" Sally snorted.

"Realist!" Slim countered, repeating "What other factors?"

"I could just give myself up and be done with it," Kim said.

"That's not going to happen. I made a promise, too, and..."

Everyone jumped as the side door opened and a shadowy figure stepped in, backlit by the pastel hues of twilight.

"Why're y'all sittin' here in the dark?" Andy asked.

 **In the heat of discussion** no one had noticed the encroaching darkness. The only source of light was the oil lamp suspended directly over the parlor table. Too, the room had grown chill.

"I'll take care of this," Sally said, scraping back her chair. "But we're not done with this powwow. Andy... you go wash up."

"Again? Are we ever gonna get any supper?"

Jonesy got up then. "That's my cue." He gave each of the retired combatants a pointed look. "You two keep on talkin' this out... from a distance. Kim, you see to it they don't neither of 'em try to get at t'other."

"What do you expect _me_ to do about it if they do?"

"Dunno," Jonesy shook his head. "Shoot 'em, maybe?"

While Sally and Jonesy busied themselves lighting lamps and rekindling fires in the cookstove and fireplace, Slim and Jess exchanged sullen expressions. Feeling like a cross between a referee and a master of ceremony, Kim attempted to initiate a dialogue between the two.

"It's not unheard of for friends to fight," he ventured. "Usually it's over some dumb misunderstanding that could easily be cleared up by honest conversation."

"We're done talking about it," Slim stated flatly.

"You big oaf!" Sally called from over by the fireplace where she was hunkered down feeding sticks to the fire. "You haven't even begun to talk! All you've done so far is bellow and paw the ground like a bull elk in rut."

"Says the lady what chewed me a new one..." Jess muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!"

"Look... Slim... let's take this one issue at a time." Kim plowed ahead, wanting to deter them from flying off on a tangent. "What's number one on your list of beefs with Jess?"

"Andy almost got shot... coulda been killed..."

"That's not what happened." Andy emerged from the hallway, tucking in his shirt. "The first man was already dead. I thought it was Opie got him but it wasn't. It was Kim. Then the second man shot Jess. I saw him turn an' walk away toward his horse. He wasn't comin' into the barn. I thought _you ain't gettin' away with killin' Jess!_ That's when I went out there and shot him. It was easy. There wasn't anyone shootin' at me."

Andy concluded his nonchalant speech by strolling into the kitchen. "Anything I can help you with, Jonesy?"

 **A gamut of emotions galloped across Slim's face** as he tracked his little brother's progress around the table. Pride—that the boy had the intestinal fortitude to face danger in defense of his friends. Fear—for what might have happened. Sorrow—for the innocence that had been shattered and a burden of conscience imposed far too early in a young man's life. In his heart, Slim acknowledged that Jess wasn't responsible for any of this. As for Andy's shooting skills... well, Slim himself had taught him how to use a rifle and a shotgun. Jess had merely followed up with the finer points of handgun usage.

"I may have made a mistake," Slim finally admitted, the choler beginning to leach from his face.

On her knees retrieving towels from the floor, Sally started and banged her head on the underside of the table. This was a rare admission for Slim Sherman... that he might've got the wrong end of the stick.

Above the table Jess was knitting his eyebrows as if he, too, had just received a revelation he didn't quite understand. Did this mean he was off the hook for Andy's actions?

Kim was quick to capitalize on this tiny victory. "Moving on... what's the next priority... Jess' intent to leave? You seem awfully upset about that..." He regretted seeing the hostility return to Slim's eyes... but dammit... this couldn't be resolved until brought out in the open.

 **Andy was grinding coffee beans** at the work counter, his back to the others. At his muffled gasp, Jonesy spun around. "Grab a bucket... we need more water," he stated loudly.

"What? Now?" The cistern was still almost full.

"Don't bother with a coat... we ain't gonna be out there that long."

To make his case, Jonesy had only the minutes it would take to fill two buckets. "I know what you're feelin' about maybe losin' Jess again... but... an' it's a big but... today you crossed a line an' left your blubberin' days behind. Maybe you ain't got the years, but you're grown up enough to want some respect. That means you got to act grown up. With me so far?"

Andy nodded his assent.

"I want you to be thinkin' about what you're gonna say when you go back in there an' it comes your turn. Be strong an' speak up for yourself... but be respectful. Jess leavin' ain't a done deal… he ain't made up his mind. That's part a what this meetin's all about. Everythin' depends on gettin' 'em to talk to each other like big boys 'stead a tusslin' like little boys on the playground."

Andy grinned, finally. Just a little one but enough to indicate he'd absorbed Jonesy's advice. "Can we go in now?"

 **In the meantime,** Slim had locked eyes with Jess. "I'm not asking you to leave before you're well. I don't want you to leave at all. But understand this, Jess—if you go, it's for good this time. No coming back."

"What you ain't gettin' is..."

"You can't do this to Andy again. Or me. I can't bear his grief..."

Unable to reply, Jess was torn between alarm at Slim's anger... and a soul-searing sadness at the prospect of tearing himself away from the people he called family and the place he called home.

"Slim..." Sally murmured, "this isn't his main concern... you..."

"Stay out of it, Sally. I'm not gonna beg the man to stay if he doesn't want to."

"There's something you should know before..."

"Don't want to hear it from you. If Jess has something he needs to tell me, some problem with me personally, than he oughta be man enough to say it to my face..."

"That ain't fair, Slim!" Jess yelled, stung. "You're the one..."

"Do what you like. I'm done." Slim made to stand up and found he couldn't. Dumping her armload of soiled towels and clothing, Sally had sidled around behind and had him clamped by both shoulders. Strong hands that easily controlled a skittish draft horse's foot had no trouble keeping a six-foot two-inch man in his chair.

 **Returning to the kitchen,** Jonesy nudged Andy toward the table, announcing "Andy has some things he'd like to say... and it's his turn." His tone was mild but there was steel in it. "I'm sure he has questions, too. You'd better have the right answers. Andy... you sit over there next to Kim."

Andy sat up straight with his hands folded on the table, glancing first at Jonesy and then at Sally for reassurance.

"Well... first off..." he began uncertainly. "I wish you wouldn't talk about me like I'm not even in the room. I own half this ranch even if I'm just a kid. I might be too young to make decisions but I oughta at least get to hear the reasons for whatever you decide. How can I learn anything if you won't ever tell me anything important?"

Sally gave Slim's left shoulder—the uninjured one—a prod. "This is when you get to make a comment. Just one."

"I guess you're right..." A painful squeeze indicated that was an unsatisfactory reply. "You _are_ right. You shouldn't be excluded," he quickly amended. A little happy pat this time. Right answer.

"The second thing is... when we talked in the barn a while back, you promised you were gonna stop being so mean to Jess. Now you've gone and beat him up. For what? Nobody knows what you've been mad about before today. How can we make you not mad if you won't tell us why?"

"I'd sure as heck like to hear the answer to that one," Jess said.

"Pipe down, Harper. Your turn's coming," Jonesy ordered, back at his post.

Slim mumbled something inaudible. A vice-like grip pinched him.

"Truth or dare, Sherman," Sally challenged. "What's really eating you? Speak up or forfeit your right to be a putz."

Slim shook his head, remaining stubbornly mute.

"I'm sorry… we can't quite hear you," Sally said, increasing the pressure. "You were saying…?"

Slim's face had taken on a rosy hue as he stared down at the table top, mumbling. "It's embarrassing."

All ears perked up at that... and all eyes were riveted on him in disbelief. Even Jonesy had to leave his post for a gander. "You... embarrassed? That's one for the books!"

"Matt... what have you done?" Sally's voice was soft... almost a caress. Slim was the most circumspect person she knew... he _never_ did anything to be embarrassed about.

"Nothing. It's nothing I've done. It's you..." At that he lifted his head and looked straight at Jess. "And him."

 **The silence that followed** was so profound a feather hitting the floor would've reverberated like a tree toppling in the forest.

His mouth having fallen open in utter incredulity, Jess blinked rapidly and actually twisted around in case some unknown male had suddenly materialized behind him. His eyebrows resembled a pair of woolly bear caterpillars vying for supremacy on his forehead. "Me?" he squeaked, pointing a finger at his own chest. "...and her?"

"Yeah..." Slim confirmed heavily. "You think I don't know what's been going on here the past couple of weeks?"

Sally had let go of Slim and subsided into the empty chair next to him, elbow on the table top and hand across her eyes. "Oh. My. God."

Kim studiously inspected his fingernails as if in urgent need of a manicure. Jonesy immediately became engrossed in something steaming on the stove. Andy's head swung like a pendulum from Sally to Jess and back again.

"Miss Sally... and _Jess?_ " he blurted out.

She waved her free hand around while producing odd snorting noises behind the other one. It took Andy a while to catch on that her convulsive movements were suppressed laughter. Presently she withdrew a bandanna from a bib pocket and used it to dry her eyes and honk her nose.

"Oh, Matt! Seriously? You mean to say all this time you thought...?"

"I don't see what's so funny about my best friend carrying on with my..."

"Careful!" Sally cautioned quickly.

"My... uh... other friend... behind my back and under my nose." Slim spoke with bruised dignity, not realizing the physical impossibility of his spatial prepositions. "I've seen you with your hands all over each other!"

Sally scoffed. "That's a blatant exaggeration. The only application of hands has been on my part... that is, only _my_ hands have done the applying... as a medical necessity... and they sure as hell haven't gone anywhere they didn't need to. I can assure you _his_ hands haven't gone anywhere."

"Not his hands I was worried about. You sure were pushing me to go to Cheyenne for a few days."

"I sure was," she agreed. "We all needed a break from your cranky ass."

"Obviously you just wanted some privacy to..."

Sally rolled her eyes dramatically. "And I'm telling you... there is _nothing_ going on between me and Harper. You're tilting at windmills."

 **Being ten kinds of confused** at his end of the table, Jess wasn't seeing the humor, either. How in the foggy blue morning had Slim got the idea he was messing with Sally? His head buzzed with contradictory evidence... first and foremost being how everyone knew he and the woman hadn't got along until recently. Sure, he'd come to know and like her as a person... and, sure, he'd arrived—albeit lately—at an appreciation of her womanly qualities. That didn't mean he was even remotely attracted to her in any romantic sense. Well, maybe just a tad. Admittedly there were a couple of times when her hands on him had given rise, so to speak, to natural involuntary responses for which no man could be held accountable. _Think, think, think!_

Jess was quite capable of logical thought progression when he applied himself. Okay... so he hadn't known Sally was Slim's woman... not until Kim had told him so. Which didn't necessarily make it true. But if it were—and he'd never witnessed any display of affection between them either before or after that assertion—then it would follow he also wouldn't have noticed a decline in that affection. Okay... say she was diddling someone else... who might that someone else be? For weeks and weeks she'd been here more than she'd been elsewhere... so it had to be someone here. On the ranch. Not himself, not the two old cowboys or the two before them, not the two coach drivers who'd stayed for a spell because they were long gone, not Jonesy or Andy... which left only one warm body and Jess was looking at him.

Of course. Jess'd known at the time who was in the adjacent bedroom. He and Carrie'd been making enough noise of their own but not so much they couldn't hear similar sounds coming from the next room. For all he knew that mightn't have been the first or only time Sally and Kim'd indulged in a carnal romp—not that that was any of his business. Except that Slim's accusing him of being the perpetrator did sort of make it his business. And for the life of him he just couldn't picture those two together...

Kim had left off beavering a thumbnail and was watching back with a vaguely panicked expression. Turning his head slightly Jess found Sally apparently trying to telecommunicate with him, with just the tiniest negative nod imploring him not to tattle.

Oblivious to the unspoken pleas for nondisclosure flitting about the table, Slim was continuing his tirade. He was on the brink of ordering Andy to leave the room when he remembered he'd just agreed to not exclude him.

"And what possessed you to bring a… that kind of woman into our home, Sally?" Slim was demanding, pointing a finger at Kim. "I have a reputation to maintain... and he's well enough to ride into town if he needs to."

Sally realized right away Slim must've overheard her and Marilyn's conversation earlier. Her heart sank. Getting out of this wasn't going to be easy.

"Carolina Compton is no longer associated with that business," she said primly. "She's embarked on a respectable career as a seamstress and is doing very well at it."

Slim muttered something about sows' ears and silk purses.

"Miss Compton's a dear friend of Jess' who came out here to visit him and ended up staying the night as it was too late to drive back to town."

At this juncture wild horses couldn't have dislodged Andrew Sherman from his seat at the Table of Epiphanies. _And_... he had an answer to his question regarding the provenance of an item currently residing in a pants pocket.

"I suppose you were right here in the house playing chaperone?"

"Why, of course."

"I wasn't asleep when Missus Bartlett and you were talking in the kitchen."

"I know."

"I heard what she said."

"I know that, too."

"I know what I heard."

"And did you hear me tell her she was mistaken? That what she assumed happened was not in fact the case?"

"Well... not exactly."

"Then you'll have to take my word for it. Jess Harper and I are not lovers. Never have been. Aren't now. Aren't likely to be in future."

"Then why won't you...?"

"Not here and not now, Matt. That's a discussion for another time. Privately."

 **Andy spoke up.** "Can I say something?"

"You have the floor."

"Actually, I wanna show you something." Delving in his pocket, Andy laid an ivory whalebone corset busk on the table.

"You been up in the attic again? I've told you to leave Ma's stuff alone."

"No, I haven't been in the attic, Slim," the boy retorted with a smug grin. "Found this on the floor under your bed. That proves something..."

"Er... what?"

"Proves some lady took her clothes off in your room... but it wasn't Miss Sally. She don't... she doesn't wear a corset, ever."

Slim turned red as a beet while Sally shoved three knuckles in her mouth to keep from cracking up. Jess was a peculiar shade of green and Kim buried his face in folded arms. Jonesy was holding a tea towel up to his face.

"How do you... how would you..." Slim croaked, completely mortified.

"Oh... Jess showed me a while back how to tell when ladies are wearing corsets and when they ain't... aren't. Don't you know how to tell?"

Sally finally got control of herself. "Thank you, Andy... you couldn't have timed that better if you'd tried. Have you anything to add?"

"I just want things to go back to the way they were, with Slim an' Jess bein' friends again an' lookin' out for each other an' not fightin'. I don't want Jess goin' away. I don't want Kim goin' away, either, unless he's just gotta, 'cause he's a good teacher."

"Anything else?" Sally made her voice low and encouraging.

"Yeah. About this morning... about shootin' that man. I'd kinda like to have another private talk with Slim _an'_ Jess about it... no offense to you or Jonesy or Kim. But after we eat... I'm starvin'!"

"I think that can be arranged," Sally agreed. "How about you help me clear off the table and mop the floor right quick. Kim... perhaps you could help Jonesy with supper?"

Slim looked deflated, as if the air had leaked out of his balloon... but he nodded.

Having regained his composure, Kim stood up to comply. "Jess... look, I believe Slim's capable of mounting a defense against any aggression as long as we're all behind him one hundred percent. Especially you. You're his chief advisor. He depends on your expertise to keep one step ahead of the bad guys."

"Thanks, but I believe I can speak for myself," Slim said. "I know I haven't exactly been square with you, Jess, and I apologize. I let jealousy get the better of me."

Jess'd tried to ignore the pain but it was beginning to cloud his thought processes and he was starting to feel shaky. He recognized that he was at a crossroad. He could rat on Sally and Kim and maybe get Kim kicked out into the cold... but that might wreck Andy's prospects of getting into that fancy school... or destroy Slim's and Sally's relationship, whether it was just friends or something more. He could sit up there on his high horse and let himself be eaten up with injured pride at Slim's lack of trust. Or he could just accept Slim's apology with good grace and no fuss. There was just one thing he wanted to know for sure...

"You want I should stay... or go?"

Slim looked him square on with a lopsided grin. "Stay. Warts and all, you're part of this family now and that'll never change."

That's the last thing Jess heard before he blacked out.


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29 —_ **PEACE IN THE VALLEY**

" _ **Peace is not absence of conflict, it is the ability**_

 _ **to handle conflict by peaceful means."**_ _(Ronald Reagan)_

 **Two weeks had passed** since that frightening event, with no further untoward incidents to mar the fragile peace of the Sherman household. Which wasn't to say all was love and tranquility in the hearts and minds of the residents. Because it wasn't. Trust once broken is as difficult and time-consuming to repair as establishing that trust in the first place. While Slim and Jess had arrived at a détente, there remained between them a barrier of cautious reserve.

After completing the allotted week of therapy, Sally had gone home as scheduled. Along with Martha Jackson, she'd returned on two successive Saturdays to tend horses while Martha scoured the house. While she might not have appeared to be actively avoiding personal encounters with any of the male residents, that was exactly the case. Believing her presence was hampering restoration of harmony among the men, she kept it to a minimum. Also, she was totally fed up with them in particular and their gender in general—excluding Andy, naturally. He hadn't yet acquired those annoying adult male attributes that tend to incite homicidal rages amongst womenkind.

The two wounded men were healing rapidly with no sign of infection. Having dispensed with the sling, Slim contrived to spend most of the daylight hours outdoors and away from the house. Indoors, he claimed a backlog of bookkeeping kept him from socializing when he wasn't eating or sleeping. The sunny smile that lit up his features was rarely seen and sorely missed by all concerned.

A renewed thirst for freedom from the confines of the house reinforced Jess' determination to overcome his mobility problem. He applied himself to exercising with a fury that would have alarmed the doctor and his chief therapist had they been there to witness it. For routines requiring a spotter, Jess pried Jonesy out of the kitchen and Andy from his studies whenever he could. He'd hoped Slim might be moved to assist, but so far the latter had managed to make himself unavailable on one pretext or another.

Had not Jess been so engrossed in his own health issues, he might've fretted over the dearth of conviviality between himself and Slim, and the diffidence that now governed their relationship. Jonesy certainly noticed. Andy did. Kim was off in his own galaxy except when occupying his tutor's chair. What Mild Bill and Opie didn't understand they could sense well enough and more often took to eating privately in their camp wagon.

 **Saturday, December 9th...** Halfway between town and relay station, the outbound buggy bearing Young Doc and Sally reined in to exchange greetings with the inbound spring wagon—Slim and Jonesy on the bench, Andy and Jess in the bed. The weather had continued dry, windy and bitingly cold. The combined exhalations of six humans and three horses produced a mini-biosphere of vaporous cloud.

"Cold enough for you?" Young Doc boomed from under the voluminous multi-hued scarf wrapped around his head, neck and the lower part of his face. Beside him, enveloped in fur with the hood pulled up, Sally resembled some ursine predator with a human nose and eyes.

"That and then some," Slim retorted from under his own muffler.

"Don't often see all four of you coming into town on market day," Young Doc remarked.

"First an' last chance to get our Christmas shoppin' done," Jonesy explained. His arctic excursion ensemble included a jolly red crocheted cap with earflaps and laces ending with bobbles, over which his ubiquitous bowler trembled at some elevation from his head. Apparently a third bobble occupied the crown.

"What brings you out this way?" Slim inquired.

"Mildred Keogh's about to pop any day now. Twins, I suspect."

"Fred's gonna drop me off at your place on the way," Sally added. "It _is_ Saturday, you know..."

"Oh... yeah... that's right..." Slim made a rueful face. "I forgot... well, we'd best be on our way."

The respective drivers clucked to their horses and the vehicles moved apart.

 **No sooner had the spring wagon** surged forward a dozen feet than Slim pulled up again and turned to Andy in the bed. "How about you drive us the rest of the way in while I visit with Jess?"

"Well... uh... sure." They scrambled to exchange places and Slim settled himself down as they got underway again. It was actually more comfortable back there than on the hard bench seat, with a cushion of straw underneath and molded against the sides and front wall. Considerably warmer, too. Although all four were bundled in sheepskin jackets over layers of wool and flannel, with knitted mufflers and heavy lined gloves, Jonesy had insisted on throwing in a couple of moth eaten wool lap robes and the mangy old buffalo robe that'd been in the family since the migration west.

Jess hadn't been too happy about having to ride in the wagon. He'd fully intended to ride Traveller into town. Had in fact let Andy help him saddle up _and_ mount, not yet being fully rehabilitated to the skip-and-hop stage. First time he'd been astride a horse in ten weeks... and after fifteen minutes just trotting around the corral he discovered he wasn't fully rehabilitated even to that. At the first cramp he got off Traveller a lot faster than he'd got on and put the confused animal away.

This wasn't a contingency he'd planned for. He'd been doing so well, too! Knee flexibility almost one hundred percent. Cutting back to one crutch then none. Only a very slight limp which Young Doc assured him would go away in time. A residual ache but no real pain. Regretfully he accepted there was no way he could manage twelve miles on horseback to town and back. Some day soon... but not today.

 **When Slim slid in beside him** and pulled the buffalo robe back up over both their legs, Jess shot him a sideways glance. Since the meeting, each had been extremely careful to maintain personal space. Aside from that day he'd been shot and Slim had sat nearby with a comforting hand, there'd been no horseplay—no fake punches on the arm or slaps on the back or butt or arms around the neck or hands on shoulders ... none of the innocent little gestures in which close male friends indulge without fear of censure. The furniture fight didn't count, naturally.

Jess realized with a pang that this was what he was missing the most—the physical as well as the emotional intimacy. Slim Sherman was the closest he'd ever come to having a real true-blue friend, someone on whom he could depend without a single qualm. After all was said and done, and now that he understood the reasons behind Slim's harsh words, Jess had _almost_ convinced himself he could put that whole unfortunate interlude behind them. _Almost._ Still, he wondered at Slim's tardiness in returning to the way things were before the accident back in October. Was it coincidence that everything started going sour with Kim's arrival that same day? Before he could venture down that path he was interrupted by Slim's surreptitiously clearing his throat. In his peripheral vision he saw Slim peering at him from under his hat brim.

" **How're you doin'?"** Slim's gruff voice was overlaid with a faint warmth that'd been missing far too long.

"Reckon I'll live." Jess replied cautiously. "How's the shoulder?"

"Fine as frog hair split four ways," Slim grinned. A real ear-to-ear Slim grin. The kind that made his eyes squinch and his dimples pop. A wavelet of relief rippled over Jess. Was this long dry spell about to break?

"Good to see you back on two feet 'stead of four."

Jess grunted. "Sure glad to get rid a them crutches."

"Watched you in the corral... don't let it get you down. It's not your head that's forgot how to ride... it's your muscles. Maybe thinking you could ride all the way into town was too ambitious for your first day back in the saddle..."

"Yeah? Well... thanks for the advice." A whiff of sarcasm permeated Jess' words.

Slim faltered for a moment but soldiered on. "No... really. If you do a little bit every day—just around the corral... why... pretty soon you'll be riding as well as you ever did."

"How soon's 'pretty soon'? A week? A month? Three months?" Jess asked quietly... or as quietly as he could over the shake, rattle and roll of the wagon.

"Soon enough you can start earning your pay again," Slim quipped, then realized by the stony silence that followed that he'd made a tactical error. "That was a joke, Jess."

He jabbed an elbow in his partner's side. "Oh come on. I'm only kidding! My top hand gets full pay for downtime. After all... it was an on-the-job injury. Overland'll back me up on that."

"I don't work for Overland. You think I don't know my pay comes outta your pocket?"

"Ah... but some of what goes into that pocket is bonus money for a job well done and exemplary service... which we wouldn't have earned without your help."

"You pullin' my leg?"

"Not at all. Bob Underhill said if we were a depot instead of just a relay station he'd hire you in a New York minute."

"He still route manager for this area?"

"No... he's been transferred. Some new guy name of Slade took over. Haven't met him yet."

 **Slim shifted from one haunch to another,** uncrossing and recrossing his long legs, amused to note his companion mimicking his actions. A chill was seeping upwards through the layer of compressed straw separating their hindquarters from the deck. Slim could tell by the landmarks they still had about four miles to go. From the position of the sun overhead—and twin whinnies from up front—he reckoned it was about time for the ten o'clock stage to come through.

The wagon slowed as Andy steered Jake and Willy to the right, where a natural lay-by provided room to move out of the way. Presently the stage topped the incline and the fast-walking team broke into a lope as they entered the straightaway. Mose Shell waved as he drove past but didn't slow down for a chat, having already been apprised the day before that he would have to make do with Opie's and Mild Bill's assistance. Kim was in charge of coffee and pie service to passengers.

And now there was Sally, of course, Slim mused. Not that he expected her to automatically assume hostessing duties... but women just naturally gravitated towards that sort of thing... didn't they? Having just arrived herself she'd still be clean and presentable. On the other hand, even if she were filthy and greasy, when had she _ever_ been concerned with appearances? That woman was unique, almost equal to a man in all respects... and living proof that it was possible for a man and a woman to be friends.

 **At least Slim** _ **hoped**_ **they could continue** being friends. It still stung a little that she'd without warning truncated the benefits portion of their long-standing 'arrangement'... but not as much as he'd expected... somewhat of a relief, in fact. He wondered if Jess might be feeling something similar about their friendship... _hey, it was fun while it lasted, but in the long run not all that important._ Since the meeting, Jess'd had reverted to the reserved, distrustful demeanor he'd started with—not hostile or antagonistic, but closed off and aloof.

For weeks now Slim'd been agonizing over how he could repair the damage for which he alone was responsible... knowing that his own jealousy and pridefulness had destroyed the trust it taken him so long to establish. And how goddam stupid had that been? Jealousy over a woman who wasn't even his... or Jess'. Time and again Mary Grace had chided her boy child about the sin of pride and how one day it would prove to be his downfall... and Ma was always right. Still... it was so hard, so _very_ hard, to accept he'd made a mistake, to admit as much to the wronged party, to apologize...

 **In the corral, Opie and Mild Bill** were buckling the last straps on four harnessed horses. They waved as the doctor's buggy rolled into the yard and circled around to the forge lean-to where Sally disembarked.

"Don't get out... I can manage." She waved off her brother's move to assist offloading her tool kit. "Oh good... someone's already fired up the forge."

"Wonder what Lychee's doing here?" Young Doc frowned toward the black gelding at the hitch rail in front of the house.

"Visiting Kim, I guess."

"I might be a while getting back to pick you up. Thought I'd go by the Gantrys and Livingstons while I'm out this way."

"No problem. If I get done early I'm sure I can find things that need doing in the house."

Young Doc didn't drive off immediately but fidgeted with his gloves until his sister finally looked up from laying out her tools on the workbench.

"What?"

Her younger brother managed to look nonplussed and had trouble meeting her eyes. "Since everyone's gone for the day... that means you'll be here, alone with..." Young Doc tilted his head toward the house. "You know..."

Sally folded her arms, pretending to misunderstand. "Cousin Lychee, you mean? Far as I know he still rides for the other brand."

Young Doc turned pink. "Not him. The other one..."

"Oh... I doubt I'd have any trouble fending him off."

The doctor shook his head in frustration. "Have you no shame, woman?"

"Let me think... um, no."

"By the way... has Slim got a clue yet about you and... ah...?"

"For your information, my dear brother, there is nothing going on at the moment for Slim to have a clue about. What's your problem with Kim? I thought you liked him?"

"I did... I _do_... it's just that..." He sighed. "You don't know..."

"Just that _what?_ What don't I know?"

"Never mind. Well, if you can't be good... at least be careful." With that Young Doc made a kissy noise to Fancy and the mare trotted away.

 **Jess subsided into somber silence** as the wagon made the sinuous descent to the flatlands marking the outskirts of town. He got that Slim was trying to make amends in a roundabout fashion... but his confidence had been shaken. That his attachment to this family—and theirs to him—could be so easily undone was unnerving. He wasn't sure he could re-adapt to life on the drift. He was damned sure he didn't want to. Where would he go and what would he do if he had to leave this place? The whole idea of having to start over somewhere else just made him tired. He was cold and aching and wishing he'd opted to stay home... if he could still call it that. But he couldn't, of course. He had presents to buy and a lady to visit... a list in one pocket and an invitation in another. Gradually he became aware that Slim was speaking to him...

"Sorry... you was sayin'?"

"I was asking if you wanted to grab a beer at Sam's Club later on this afternoon before we head back."

"Sam's Club?"

"Used to be Irish Lily's. Some gal from back east—Samantha something—bought it and fixed it up."

"So it's just a saloon?"

"She calls it a 'club' because it sounds classier, so I heard. If you're a 'member' you get your drinks at a discount."

"As I recall, the Prairie Rose is a club an' you don't get no discounts there! Hell, they wouldn't even let me in the door."

"I signed up both of us as members at Sam's."

"Oh yeah? What'd that set you back?"

"A buck a piece. So... whaddya say? This afternoon... you and me?"

An involuntary smile transformed Jess' face as he realized with a start that it had been almost three months since the two of them had been out drinking together. "Yeah... this afternoon... that'd be great!"


	30. Chapter 30

_Chapter 30_ _ **—**_ **TOWN AND COUNTRY**

" _ **Christmas gift suggestions... to your enemy, forgiveness; to an opponent,**_

 _ **tolerance; to a friend, your heart; to a customer, service; to all, charity;**_

 _ **to every child, a good example; to yourself, respect."**_ _(Oren Arnold)_

 **The streets of downtown Laramie** were chockablock with conveyances of all descriptions from handcarts to buggies to farm wagons to freighters. Vendors hawked their wares directly from tailgates or hard-bodied affairs with sides that lifted up to provide awnings. Boardwalks were thronged with families come to admire and hopefully exchange carefully hoarded funds for gifts not seen in retail stores at any other season. As well, harassed but determined farmwives were engaged in their usual Saturday morning marketing. A festive air prevailed despite the frigid temperatures. The only other times the town was this busy were Founder's Day and the Fourth of July.

To avoid the worst congestion, Jonesy directed Andy to make a wide dogleg to the north end of town, where they squealed to a halt on the open ground adjoining Lowenstein's Livery. For a minute or so the four passengers stretched and flailed their arms, stomping around to restore circulation to numbed extremities. Avery and Orrie Jackson materialized to unhook the team and lead them away into the shelter of the stable while the Sherman contingent devised search strategies.

For a man whose family'd been too destitute to celebrate Christmas in the traditional sense, shopping for store-bought presents was an unprecedented and baffling experience. Days ago Jess had taken Andy aside for a consultation on protocol...

"You mean you've never had a Christmas tree... not even when you were a kid?" the boy was incredulous.

"Well... no. I seen 'em in other folks' homes, though. Are we gonna have one?"

"I don't remember ever _not_ having one! What about presents... you never got presents? Or gave any?"

"I reckon you don't know what it's like to be dirt poor," Jess'd observed sadly. "Hope you never do."

 **Jonesy laid out the strategy** for secretive shopping **—** one pair to cruise one side of the main thoroughfare, the other pair taking the other side. Upon reaching the south end of the downtown shopping district they'd swap sides and retrace their steps to the livery. Then they'd take a lunch break and trade partners and do it again. Which was fine in theory but not so much in practice. As it happened, Slim and Jess each had private business to transact around lunchtime. Each needed a couple of hours... could they put off regrouping until, say, three o'clock? Would Jonesy and Andy mind lunching on their own?

The morning rotation concluded successfully with purchases, disguised with brown wrapping paper and secured with string, stashed for safekeeping in the livery office. Jonesy and Andy hiked off in the direction of a favored café, leaving the other two to exchange sheepish side glances.

"You gonna be all right on your own?" Slim inquired. "Noticed you're limping some. Be glad to walk with you to wherever you're going."

"I'll be fine. Not goin' far. Need any help with that?" Jess indicated the canvas bag full of books that Slim had fished out of the back of the wagon.

"No. No thanks... just donating these to the new library. I've... er... been nominated to the board of directors. We're having a meeting."

"Oh... okay. See ya later."

They strolled together to the end of the block where Slim hooked a left and Jess turned right—each curious as to the other's destination, neither willing to unbend and ask outright.

 **Slim's ground-eating stride** swiftly covered the three blocks to the stately home of Belgian master butcher Alphonse DeNamur and his wife Heloise. Madame DeNamur was a pillar of local society, a dedicated arbiter of community standards who relentlessly campaigned for enlightenment for the masses. To that end, a new private subscription library—the Wyoming Library and Literary Association—was soon to be launched in a vacant storefront property adjacent to DeNamur's Fine Meats. In the preliminary stages Matthew Sherman's name had been put forth as a prospective director by another stalwart member of the Ladies' Cultural Improvement Guild—one Missus Emmaline Giancomo, distinguished aunt to Doctor Wilfred Whatleigh and his sister Salviah Whatleigh Lowenstein.

A kick-off fundraising tea was to be held that very afternoon in the DeNamur home, to which invitees were encouraged to bring financial contributions and book donations. The check was in Slim's pocket. Of course, it wasn't just his love of books firing his enthusiasm.

Two weeks ago Slim had been trading pleasantries with Alf as the latter painstakingly weighed, measured and wrapped the items on Jonesy's grocery list. A tall, elegant blonde woman had swept from behind the curtains separating the service and display area from the more grisly workings of the business. Following a brief exchange in Walloon French, Alphonse properly introduced his wife's niece—Beatrice Marguerite Camille Evrard, newly arrived in Laramie. Without thinking, Slim had automatically bowed over the proffered hand without actually touching lips to flesh. The young woman had widened her eyes in surprise, favoring him with a coolly appraising look and a fleeting nod of approval before withdrawing.

Barely able to contain his amusement at his customer's stupified expression, Alf DeNamur had offered the additional intel that the Vassar graduate was to be the nascent library's first mistress. She would be lodging with her aunt and uncle until permanent accommodations could be arranged. Perhaps, after the furor of the holidays had subsided, the rancher would care to sup with them in order to become better acquainted? Possibly on the eve of the library's inauguration next month? And by the way... Miss Beatrice was to be formally presented at the fund-raiser.

Naturally, Slim'd not breathed a word of this to Jess... or Sally. Pangs of guilt over this intentional oversight assailed him... right up to the moment he knocked on the front door and the enchanting young woman herself answered.

 **On his two block amble** to the parallel street where Carrie Compton maintained her business, Jess hadn't expected to find any cut flowers at this time of year... and indeed he didn't. However, in passing he came across a new enterprise—a store dedicated entirely to wine and spirits. Jess knew next to nothing about wine other than working gals seemed to favor champagne... and somewhere along the line he'd heard that a nice bottle of wine constituted a suitable hostess gift. He turned into the store, which was thick with the fragrance of something pleasant. A tinkling bell over the door announced his presence to the proprietor, a wizened gnome who greeted him most cordially through thick-lensed spectacles. Unsure why he was even bothering to do so, Jess found himself explaining his situation.

"She's a real nice girl... I wanna make the right impression," he added bashfully. "Maybe you could recommend somethin' nice that, you know, quality folks might serve?"

Perched on a high stool behind the counter, Mister Goldberg twiddled his thumbs and peered at his customer thoughtfully before making a judgment call. Something about the young man's earnestness, the uncertainty in his blue eyes, the respectful way he'd removed his hat while indoors... clearly cheap champagne wasn't on the ticket. Just as obvious was the fact that this cowboy wasn't flush, either. Slithering down off his stool, the old man hobbled around the counter and used his walking stick to point to a row of bottles on a high shelf that he couldn't reach himself.

As instructed, Jess took down a bottle of white and another of rosé, setting them on the counter and waiting patiently as the diminutive shopkeeper ascended a three-riser portable stair to resume his post at the cash register.

"Sure smells pretty in here," Jess commented. "Like flowers."

"That's because there _are_ flowers. Didn't you notice them in the window when you came in? Go take a look."

Sure enough, toward the front of the bay display window were a dozen colorful glazed ceramic pots with assorted live, scented blooming plants.

"These real?" Jess asked doubtfully.

"Oh yes... my wife's hobby, forcing flower bulbs for the holiday season. Go ahead... choose one."

"Excuse me?"

"For your lady friend. Pick the one you think she'll like best."

Jess shook his head. "I reckon she'd be pleased as all get out, but I ain't sure I can even afford two bottles of wine."

"Of course you can... we just happen to be having an unadvertised two-for-one sale on the wine. The flowers are on the house... free to a first-time customer because we'd like to see you back again."

With the transaction concluded, Jess made sure his gifts were secure in the wicker basket Mister Goldberg had thrown into the deal.

"I don't know what to say except thank you... and, er... Merry Christmas, I guess?"

"Happy Hanukkah to you, young man... and a word of advice? Have the white with lunch and save the rosé for...ah... afterwards?"

The tinkling bell announcing Jess' departure brought Missus Goldberg from behind the curtain where she'd been eavesdropping. "Such a nice young man!" Marching up to her husband, she gave him a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. "And you, my Augie... such a _mensch!_ "

Jess sincerely hoped that by the time he reached the front door of Compton's Coutures his face wasn't still as pink as that wine.

 **After stowing their accumulated parcels** at the livery, Jonesy and Andy arrived at Abigail's Best Café to find the place jam-packed with no available tables. As they looked around in dismay, two waving arms appeared at opposite sides of the room... Mort Corey at a two-seater in one corner and Tommy Bartlett with two of his siblings at a four-top. Jonesy and Andy shrugged at each other and separated, the latter peeling off to join his best friend. At a more sedate pace Jonesy threaded his way over to join the sheriff.

"How you been keepin', Mort?"

"Tolerable, tolerable. Been tryin' to get out there to take statements about the trouble y'all had but it's just been too dadblame busy to leave town. Slim hereabouts today? Need to talk with him."

"He's over at DeNamur's for that library fundraiser. You might could get a message to him to come by afterwards."

"I'll do that. True what I heard about Andy takin' out one of those Chinese shooters?"

Jonesy nodded. "Bad business, that. But he stepped up to it like a man. Boy's got more sand than any of us give 'im credit for. Slim'll fill you in on the whole story later."

Corey made a face. "You know what folks're thinking, Jonesy… that if it weren't for Jess' influence…"

"I know… and that might be partly true. But under the surface, he _is_ a Sherman, after all. Wouldn't be surprised if he turned out just as principled as his brother…"

"You know… none of this would've happened if Slim hadn't decided to ignore my advice about that guest of yours…"

"That's what I mean… when a Sherman takes a stand, he's not gonna back down…"

They were interrupted by Abby herself delivering Mort's food... _and_ Jonesy's, not having bothered to take his order—he always ate exactly the same thing every Saturday. On a normal market day she would've lingered to gossip but as it was she had to hop back to the kitchen. The two men tucked in, perfectly capable of gossiping on their own without a female conductor.

"Funny thing about those two dead Chinamen..." Corey began. "I asked Lee Wing to help us out with identification because... well, you know... his underworld connections and all..."

"It's good to have friends in low places," Jonesy snickered.

"Turns out they worked for a detective agency owned by Pan-Pacific Trading Company, LLC, out of San Francisco. They're behind some of those high-dollar bounties out on your houseguest... or were..."

Jonesy stopped chewing. "That a fact? Whadda you mean by _'were'_?"

"Slim tell you what I told him last time we spoke... about that sudden influx of Chinese gangsters and white bounty hunters?"

"He did. What about 'em?"

"Well... they're gone... every last bloomin' one of 'em. Cleared out. Vamoosed."

"That's why we keep re-electin' you, Mort!" Jonesy quipped.

"Oh... it wasn't me. Some top dog from that trading company came in person on the train. Him an' Wing got together. Next day, a buncha Wing's bodyguards were out an' about, havin' words with all these here people retrievers. Next thing I knew, they all disappeared, includin' the white ones except those two I've still got over in the jail waitin' for the circuit judge." Corey shook his head. "Had no idea Wing was that high up in the Celestial hierarchy."

"Whadda ya think it means?"

"Don't know yet. Talked to Lee right afterwards. Said he had contacts workin' on it an' would let me know. Hey... how's Jess doin'? Heard he collected more lead..."

"You know Jess," Jonesy chuckled. "A bullet never keeps him down for long. In fact, he's here with us today... somewhere. Suspect he's visitin' a lady friend in between buyin' presents."

"Boy's got his priorities right, doesn't he?" Corey laughed. "Oh, to be young again... an' fulla beans!"

 **Out at the ranch,** Sally decided she could use some coffee before starting work. Shedding the fur coat onto the fainting couch, she walked around to where Lychee and Kim were sitting at the kitchen table. Both stood up.

"As you were, gentleman... and cousin. I'll get my own coffee." Though she and Lychee weren't blood relations, they'd been raised together in the same household and considered themselves cousins, almost brother and sister.

The table was strewn with legal papers, some in English and some in _hanzi_ characters. All bore multiple vermilion chop seal imprints. Sally knew what they were, of course, having seen Lychee's many times... but the fact that Kim had his own was somehow disconcerting. Several personal correspondence-size envelopes were also in evidence, none of them bearing postal service-issued paper stamps or evidence of a return address... just two lines of ideographs.

While Sally filled her mug, the half-Chinese, half-Scots lawyer produced a worn leather courier case from under the table, withdrawing a small package wrapped in brown paper which he handed to Kim. Deftly squaring the legal papers into a tidy bundle, Lychee slid them into the case along with the slender sandalwood box into which he'd fitted his burnished teak seals.

"State secrets and letters home?" Sally wisecracked drily, plunking herself down across from Kim. Odd... how one's perception could be so altered by context. Among people of European descent he appeared as just another ordinary white man, but place him next to someone of obviously Asian heritage and his distinguishing features became readily apparent to the discerning eye.

"Something like that," Kim said. Lychee said nothing but looked apprehensive.

"Good news?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Don't know yet."

"So Lychee's your contact, huh? I was wondering how you knew what was going on back home when you've been isolated here for almost three months."

"I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself."

"After all we've been through, you still don't trust me!" Sally wailed dramatically, draping a forearm over her eyes and tossing her head back.

Lychee stood then, pointing to the envelopes. "You done with those? Shall I take them?"

"May as well. _Mahalo_ , bruh!"

"You're welcome." Lychee patted the case. "Poot's off to Frisco on the Monday morning train. He'll make sure these get to the right people. I'll be back soon as I have news."

"See you then. Ride safe."

Lychee grinned and pantomimed an extravagant kowtow to Sally. "Sorry to be so abrupt, cousin. I do try to keep business and leisure separated... and this was business."

"One understands."

After the door closed behind Lychee, Kim used a soft cloth to wipe the ink paste from the imprint surfaces of the chops.

"May I see those?"

"Sure."

The one Sally correctly identified as jadeite was square-sided and surmounted by a finely detailed carving of the tattooed dragon image between Kim's shoulder blades. For such a small object—one and one-half inches by four inches—it was surprisingly heavy. The other chop, satin smooth to the touch, was an ivory cylinder one inch in diameter and three inches long, unadorned except for the actual seal—again, much heavier than it looked.

As Kim carefully rolled the two items in padded silk squares and put them away in a small leather bag, Sally studied him as she finished her coffee. He'd rebounded from whatever'd been physically ailing him prior to and immediately after the bounty hunter incidents—not yet a glowing example of health and vigor but no longer a gaunt and haunted figure. According to her brother, however, his patient seemed to have relapsed into the mostly uncommunicative state he'd exhibited during the first few days of his residency on the ranch... other than when he was actively tutoring Andy.

"But why now?" Sally'd queried.

Young Doc'd made a gesture of incomprehension. "Why ever?

"Do you think he's gone around the bend?"

"No more than the rest of us. Some people—like Slim and Jess—respond to stress by fighting back. Others fort up mentally until they're able to deal with it. Maybe that's Kim's way of regrouping."

Watching him now, Sally realized they'd both maintained a reserved distance during her two previous Saturday visits... and this annoyed her to no end.

"Are you going to talk to me or just squat there like a toad on a lily pad?"

"Maybe I was hoping for something beyond talk." His enigmatic expression softened into a ghost of a smile.

"What an intuitive mind you've got!"

"But the stage'll be here soon..."

"Twenty minutes, tops."

"Then you've got the horses to do..."

"Two, three hours at most."

"So... you're not going straight back to town when you're done?"

"No. I had other plans. But I'll need a bath first, after wrestling nags."

"I'll have a word with the bath attendant."

The badinage underscoring the thrill of anticipation was interrupted by the rumble and clatter of the arriving stagecoach.


	31. Chapter 31

_Chapter 31_ _ **—**_ **TABLEAUS VIVANT**

" _ **Family isn't always blood. It's the people in your life who want you in theirs.**_

 _ **The ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything**_

 _ **to see you smile and love you no matter what."**_ _(Anurag Prakash Ray)_

 **Midafternoon sun streaming** through lace-curtained window panes cast bright golden parallelograms across the rumpled snowy counterpane in Carrie Compton's boudoir. The pot of paperwhite narcissus on the sill filled the room with their strong, sweet scent.

"I'll give you just thirty days to stop that..."

The barely audible and none-too-convincing threat was muffled by the goosedown pillow in which Jess had buried his face. Lying beside him and propped on one elbow, Carrie delicately traced the muscles of his back with well-manicured fingernails. Evidently whoever had opined that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach had never owned a dog and was unaware of the happy oblivion produced by a properly executed back-scratching.

"I... am... in... complete... control... of... this... man..." Carrie intoned with a giggle, continuing beneath the quilt pulled up to their waists. Jess shifted to his side facing her, arresting further exploration with a firm hand on her wrist.

"Oh yeah? We'll just see about that!"

Later, resting side by side until their heart rates slowed and breathing returned to normal, Jess' speech took a serious turn.

"You know... if we got married, it could be like this all the time..."

Carrie pried her fingers away from his and sat upright, cross-legged with a pillow clutched to her torso. "No. It wouldn't."

"Why not? Ain't I...?"

"Don't even go there! This isn't about you. It's all about me. I was raised on a farm. It's a hard life. I don't want to go back to that. I like living in town with all the trappings of civilization. I love my work. You'd want me to stay home and have babies. We'd be poor and tired and there'd be no time for lazy afternoons like this. No privacy, either."

"I could get some kinda job in town..."

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Oh please! Even worse. You'd hate it... and eventually you'd hate me."

"No I wouldn't..."

"Can't we just stay friends... very special friends with very private times to enjoy each other? No strings attached."

"Like this, you mean?"

"Exactly like this. No appointments or schedules. Just whenever opportunity knocks. Like today."

Which reminded Jess he had other business. "I have to go..."

Carrie sighed. "I know. Your folks've probably sent out a search party by now."

 _Your folks?_

Jess' thought processes came to a full stop as he contemplated the import of those two words. _Not just the people I live with but... MY folks, MY family. People who care about me an' worry where I am an' what I'm doin' an' if I'm okay..._

He'd often fantasized how it would be if he were a real younger brother to Slim and older one to Andy. His real-life experience with siblings under a common roof had ended when he'd left home at age fifteen. In faded memories over a decade old he played and scrapped with both older and younger brothers and sisters. Whenever he thought about his fractured birth family, which he tried not to do, he wondered how different his life—their lives—might be today had they all survived to adulthood and spawned families of their own. Would they have remained close? Would they have got together on special occasions to celebrate milestones—birthdays, marriages, anniversaries? Or to mourn passings? All gone now, every last one besides himself—deceased or disappeared.

Carrie's casual reference was an epiphany... opening his mind to the idea that you didn't have to be _born_ into a family to be accepted as a member... and Jess' second-chance family was probably impatiently waiting at the livery stable.

From somewhere downstairs a clock gonged three times. Jess rolled to a sitting position at the side of the bed and reached for his clothes. At the door there was no tearful parting, no heartfelt promises, but yes... she would very much enjoy being his date at the dance next Saturday night.

 **The library fundraiser was a success** by any measure. Slim circulated with élan among what constituted Laramie's upper class, most of whom had known him since boyhood. (Mary Grace had not raised him to become the farmer his father expected but the gentleman she intended.) An impressive collection of books had been assembled from private libraries throughout the county, and enough money generated to more than fulfill the wish list presented by Miss Beatrice DeNamur, Head Librarian—at present _only_ librarian. Shelving, furniture and all necessary accoutrements were pledged by tradesmen and builders.

Slim wasn't the only eligible male in attendance, but certainly the most prominent... being taller and more attractive than the others. Miss DeNamur seemed to find him so, at any rate. After all the other guests had taken leave, she took his arm and guided him to her aunt's private sitting room so that the maids could get started on the dining room and parlor. They situated themselves in facing overstuffed chairs near the fireplace, with a low service table between them and the door left open to preserve decorum.

Before conversation could be initiated, Heloise DeNamur bustled in with a silver service—as if they needed _more_ tea! But wait... it wasn't tea but a decanter of excellent brandy and two crystal snifters. Slim shot to his feet.

"Please do sit, Mister Sherman! We're so pleased you and Beatrice have hit it off. Perhaps you could spare time from your busy schedule to show her the sights? She's only just arrived and hasn't met too many people before today."

"It would be my honor, m'am." Slim bowed with a flourish and the lady withdrew with a giggle, ostentatiously closing the door behind her. Slim sat back down, at a small loss as to how to continue without laughing.

Beatrice did laugh. Heartily. "Oh my God! Could she be any more obvious?" Kicking off her shoes, she crossed her stockinged feet on the table and wiggled her toes.

"Ahhhhhhhh... if I could get away with it I'd loosen my corset stays, too. Damned thing's killing me!"

"I... uh... Miss Beatrice..." Slim fought the urge to look around in case the demure Miss DeNamur had evaporated and left in her place this impish proxy. A devilishly cute substitute even more alluring than the original.

She cocked her head at him with a grin. "Not what you were expecting? Sorry about that. You can call me 'Bea' if I can call you 'Slim'. I understand that's your usual monicker..."

"Yes... of course. Slim. That's what they call me..." _You are sounding like a prime idiot._

"I love Uncle Alfie and Aunt Hellie to bits... but I'm their only niece and they've been on this relentless quest to get me married off ever since I graduated university. You're not obliged to chauffeur me around."

Slim found his voice. " _Honor_ is what I said. _Honor_ is what I meant. Not obligation. It's too cold for the traditional buggy ride in the moonlight... but I would be _honored_ if you would allow me to escort you to the grange Christmas dance next Saturday night."

"Well, then... in that case I would be _honored_ to accompany you. How long do these shindigs last?"

"They usually start thinning out around nine o'clock... parents with children first. Singles last longer, until midnight or so."

"Uncle Alfie mentioned your ranch is twelve miles out. Will you be riding home that late?"

"No. I'll be staying over at the Mountain View hotel."

With a perfectly straight face, Bea fluttered her eyelashes. "My, my. What a coincidence... so will I."

"Excuse me?"

"My cousins will be arriving with their families this week and staying until after New Year's. Aunt Hellie needs the room and this house will be packed to the rafters with hordes of howling children. So, yes... I'll be at the Mountain View as well."

Here the fair Bea folded her arms and regarded him solemnly. "I'm twenty-six years old. A not-unsullied certified old maid. What happens at the hotel stays at the hotel. Make of that what you will."

Which is when Slim Sherman—realizing he'd just been issued a challenge by a blue-eyed, blonde-haired version of Sally Whatleigh Lowenstein—beamed his twenty-four carat smile on the young lady.

"How about having dinner with me in the hotel dining room that evening? Say around five? The dance starts at seven."

"Splendid idea," Bea agreed, reaching for the decanter. "Shall we have some of Uncle Alfie's private stock to seal the deal?"

When the Ingraham clock on the mantel chimed three o'clock and Slim made his apologies, explaining his family was waiting for him, Bea raised an eyebrow. "I'll be interested in hearing all about them... next Saturday."

 **Another clock on another mantel** was also striking the hour above the heads of another couple entwined on several thicknesses of quilts and the bearskin rug in front of another fireplace.

"I suppose we'd better start making ourselves presentable," Sally murmured, tracing curlicues on Kim's belly with a forefinger.

"Already? Stage won't be here for another hour..."

"Yeah... but Fred might get back earlier than expected."

"You barred the doors, didn't you?"

"I did... and I've got an early warning signal set up with Opie and Bill..."

"How so?"

"If you hear gunshots, it's just them shooting at foxes trying to get at the chickens."

"There's foxes around here?"

"Might be... you never know. One shot for the stage fox, two for the wagon fox, and three for the buggy fox."

"You're a devious woman."

"You better believe it. Now get up..."

They turned their backs on each other to dress. It was one thing to lie naked on a bearskin rug, quite another to watch each other struggling into their clothes—a clumsy process at best. The conversation continued, however.

"Aren't you embarrassed to look Bill and Opie in the eye?" Kim said. "I mean, surely they know what we've been up to."

"They're old, not dead. Of course they know."

"And Jonesy? And what about...?"

"Jonesy knows. Not Slim. I'll tell him when the time's right."

"When will that be?"

"When he has something else... make that _someone_ else... to focus on. Which might be sooner rather than later."

They turned to face each other, Sally buttoning up her shirt and Kim doing the same with his trousers.

"How would you know that?"

"Two weeks ago he met someone... a new girl in town. He'll meet her again today."

"What makes you believe he's interested in her... that he'd prefer her to you?"

"People talk. I listen. For another thing, she's younger and prettier."

Kim stopped short, catching Sally's eyes.

"What?"

"Can I be candid here?"

"Yes. I suppose so..."

"My wife is younger than you and, in another man's eyes, probably prettier—aesthetically speaking. But that's all she is... an extravagantly wrapped empty box. Nothing of value inside. If I'd had a choice, I would've chosen you above her... without hesitation. To me you're beautiful, inside and out. And I'm in love with you."

"I know."

And there it was. The elephant in the room.

Somewhere in the vicinity of the corral, one shot rang out, followed by a pause and two more in quick succession.

 **Young Doc came inside for coffee,** having decided to delay departure until after the dust from the westbound four o'clock coach had settled. Seated at the kitchen table while Sally and Kim cleaned up after the passengers, he cheerfully expounded on the joys of Mildred Keogh's having been delivered of healthy twin boys. "I swear the woman was keeping her legs crossed until I got there!" He hadn't got around to the Gantrys and Keoghs after all. "I'll have to check in on them another time."

If Young Doc noticed his sister was awfully clean for someone who'd just spent several hours shoeing horses and smelled more of lavender and sex than horse and sweat, he didn't remark on it. In fact, she was being abnormally quiet. When it came time to leave, she lingered behind to say goodbye to Kim.

This time of year, five o'clock brought sunset and dusk, so Young Doc went ahead and lit the carriage lamps. Not that he needed them to drive by... the horses knew the way and were anxious to get to their warm stalls and evening feed. Halfway there a pair of bobbling lamps in the distance resolved into the Sherman wagon also heading toward home—Slim and Jess on the seat, Jonesy and Andy in the bed. The teams nickered to each other in passing but weren't inclined to stop for a visit. Neither were their weary human passengers, who merely waved at each other.


	32. Chapter 32

_Chapter 32_ _ **—**_ **'TIS THE SEASON**

" _ **Research has found that modern men devote 98 minutes**_

 _ **to personal grooming for a festive knees-up, while women can**_

 _ **beautify themselves in a mere 84 minutes."**_ _(Mirror website article)_

 **Saturday, December 17...** eight days until Christmas. While the teams were being swapped out, six inordinately cheerful stage passengers were milling about the parlor, fortifying themselves with coffee and pie against the grueling fifteen-mile leg to the next stop. Loitering in the kitchen with his old pal Jonesy, Mose Shell passed along a heavy weather advisory—a major snowstorm heading in their direction, according to telegraphed news coming in from the northwest territories. Although it wasn't anticipated to hit the Laramie area until midweek, townsfolk were already battening their hatches. Outlying ranches and farms were being notified by word of mouth.

Jonesy asserted that all was in siege readiness at the Sherman establishment—his sacroiliac had already alerted him a week ago. Extra supplies had been laid in the prior Saturday and any last-minute items could be obtained in town by Slim and Jess as they'd be attending the dance at the Grange Hall. Andy, Kim and himself would be sojourning in quest of a Christmas tree in the early afternoon, while weather conditions still permitted and terrain was still negotiable. On the four o'clock return run Mose would have to make do with the assistance of Mild Bill and Opie and possibly Sally Lowenstein if she were still about.

The two sages were still trading anecdotes of winter-impacted Christmases past when Jess limped in to announce the stage was ready to roll. Mose rounded up his passengers and within minutes the vehicle was toiling up the slope heading east toward Cheyenne. Declaring the need for a five-minute sit-down, Jess gratefully accepted coffee and massaged his thigh above the recently healed wound. He'd eat dirt and worms before he'd admit it but after he'd been on his feet awhile, his leg still gave him trouble. He hoped Carrie wouldn't be too disappointed if they had to sit out some of the more strenuous dances.

"Slim'll be in directly," Jess addressed Jonesy. "Asked would you mind startin' up some bathwater an' put the sad iron on the stove?"

"Who dya think yer dealin' with? Tub's already full an' there's more hot water comin', so you can get started right now. Go on. Shoo! I done ironed both yer dress shirts."

"Thanks, Jonesy. You're the best!" Jess clumped down the hall, grinning.

Jonesy turned to the two seated at the kitchen table. Amid piles of books and papers, Andy and Kim'd been hard at it since Andy'd finished his daybreak chores. "Boys... sorry to interrupt but I need Andy to carry these kettles to the back an' then refill 'em for me."

"Sure." Andy scraped back his chair.

 **Some weeks earlier,** a copy of the Smith Academy entrance exams had mysteriously turned up in Lychee McNutt's possession. Kim showed it to Slim when Andy wasn't around.

"Where'd you get that?" Slim objected. "That's cheating!"

"Not at all," Kim defended. "What I'm going to do is restructure Andy's studies to focus on the areas listed right there on the cover sheet."

Slim read aloud with dismay. "Writing—vocabulary, usage, grammar, diction. Reading comprehension. Mathematics achievement. Verbal and quantitative reasoning. And an essay? How can you possibly cram this much into the time we... you... have left?"

"The operative word is 'cram'. It can be done—Andy's bright enough. But what I need from you is a commitment to make more study time available. That means less chores."

Slim was hesitant. "I was really counting on Andy's help getting ready with spring roundup this season. Mild Bill and Opie can't stay here indefinitely. And I don't want to push Jess too hard. He thinks he's one hundred percent... but he isn't. Not yet."

"Can't have your cake and eat it, too, Slim. If you want to get Andy into the summer trimester beginning in May he'll need to take the test no later than the end of February. That gives me only eight weeks to get him up to speed."

"I know, I know... but it's looking more like it'll have to be the fall session if not later."

"As I understand it, you didn't have Jess here last spring and this year you do. How'd you make out before he came?"

"Traded a few head of scrub steers to a couple of farmers just getting by. They weren't too good at punching but I couldn't afford to hire a real hand right then. I can barely manage to pay Jess as it is."

"Okay... look. I don't have to sit here with Andy every single minute. I believe we can trust him to work on his own and not goof off if I'm not in the room. How about if I start helping with chores around here?"

"You? Like what? What do _you_ know about ranch work?"

"Next to nothing. But I can learn. I'm sure there's lots of things I could take over to free you up to do... whatever it is you do with cattle."

Slim stroked his chin thoughtfully. "How do we know you'll even be around in two months."

"We don't. But I gave my word I'd stay until he passes that test... or as long as I'm allowed to stay."

"Let me think about it," Slim finally said.

There they'd left it... although, Kim noticed, he'd eased up considerably on finding things for Andy to do and had been in a much more agreeable frame of mind lately.

 **Jess was shaving** and Slim was in the tub, inspecting his fingers and trying to decide if the nails needed trimming... also pondering the likelihood of ragged toenails presenting an issue in the immediate future.

"So... you already sparkin' that new liberry gal, huh?" Jess queried, skewing his head this way and that to insure his sideburns were even. "Funny, you ain't mentioned 'er."

"We only just met," Slim replied somewhat testily. "And we're not courting. I'm taking her to the dance, is all. Who told you, anyway?"

"Sally did. Word gets around."

"Paws off. I saw her first."

Jess whistled. "Wasn't thinkin' no such thing. I got my own gal, thank you very much."

"Are you sure that's such a great idea, taking a... her... I mean, people don't forget all that easily..."

"Who cares what people think?"

"She might... if some of those town women don't curb their tongues."

"Folks changed their minds about me. Some of 'em did, anyways. Why not her?"

"It's different for a woman... and you know it."

"I know. But they'd better treat 'er right or else..." Jess toweled away the remnants of shave cream and turned his attention to his hair.

"Now look, Jess... don't you even think about starting a ruckus and embarrassing us. I'd hate to have to take you out in the street and tan your hide!"

"Oh yeah? You an' what other clown?"

"I'm serious. Don't start any trouble." Slim heaved himself up and rinsed off with a dipper of clean water from the nearby barrel.

Jess parted his hair on one side, studied the effect and found it wanting, reparted it on the other side. "Don't aim to. But if it finds me, I ain't backin' away."

Slim raised his eyes to the ceiling and elevated his palms in supplication. "Lord, give me strength..."

Just then the door opened and Andy stuck his head in. "If you're gonna pray, at least put on some pants. We got visitors."

 **A few minutes earlier in the quiet kitchen,** Jonesy'd been punching down bread dough for its second rise. Andy and Kim were both immersed in books when Andy'd raised his head.

"Wagon coming..."

Jonesy'd peered out the kitchen door's window as two vehicles caravanned into the yard and stopped—the Whatleigh's four-passenger surrey and the Lowenstein Livery spring wagon. He'd nearly dropped his teeth as between them they'd disgorged three adults and six children.

"Andy... run to the back an' tell them two peacocks to get a move on... tell 'em we got company an' don't come out without no clothes on! Kim... you get the door... I got dough all over my hands."

Kim stepped onto the front porch as Sally came up the steps with a wicker basket in each hand, one of them leaking loud and unhappy noises.

"Oh good... you're here. Lily needs feeding and her nappy changed. Her stuff's in the other basket. I'll be right back."

"Good morning to you, too." Kim took both baskets without dissent and ducked back inside. Extracting the squalling baby, he laid her on a folded blanket on the parlor table.

"Do you have to do that where we eat?" Jonesy complained. Kim ignored him and delved into the other basket to hand him a bottle.

"Warm this up, would you?

Jess popped out of the hallway with a ratty flannel bathrobe flapping open over the towel tucked around his waist. "What's all the commotion? Oh... is that Tiger Lily? Boy, she sure has grown! And she sure is loud."

"Babies normally double their birth weight in the first three months," said the father of seven to the father of none (that he knew of), pinning the replacement diaper into place. "Here... you hold her while I clean off the table. Jonesy... that bottle ready?"

Similarly attired, Slim was next out of the washroom. He stopped and did a double take at the sight of the bathrobe-clad retired gunfighter sitting at the kitchen table with a goofy grin on his face and an armload of Sioux infant lustily sucking on the bottle.

Sally toted in two more baskets, rolling her eyes at the scene. "High noon and you slugs aren't even dressed yet? For shame!" She marched past to set the baskets on the work counter. "Brought lunch for everyone, Jonesy. I'll set the table while you start warming up the food."

"We're getting ready for the dance tonight..."

"And that's going to take you _all day?_ "

"First we have to _get_ there, then pick up some supplies for Jonesy, then we're having early supper at the hotel with…"

"Beatrice and Carolina... yes, I know." Sally smiled beatifically. "Well, don't let us stop you. We're taking the kids on a hayride and getting our trees at the same time. Two birds with one stone..."

"What kids? What hayride? What trees? Who all's here?"

"Don't you remember? Last month you said Fred and I could get our Christmas trees from your woods since we don't have any spruce on our land..."

"Oh... yeah... that's right. I'd forgot about that... but we won't be here. Like I said..."

"Andy can show us where to go. Fred and Orrie are here, too. I'm sure that among us we can manage to cut down and load trees without your assistance. That's why we came in two wagons... one for the kids and one for the trees."

"I suppose so..." Slim trailed off uncertainly.

"Carry on, then. Don't mind us. Jess, let me have the baby."

 **Behind the closed door** to the back bedroom, party primping was in full spate. Slim turned from the mirror where he'd been fastening the tiny pearl studs on his best dress shirt to observe Jess gyrating to insinuate himself into striped gray woolen trousers clearly a size too small.

"You're not wearing _those_ , are you?" Slim snickered.

"What's... wrong... with... these?" Jess huffed, sucking in his gut in an unsuccessful attempt to match buttons to buttonholes.

"It's not the pants... it's you. You've larded on a few pounds since the accident, with all that sittin' around..."

"No I ain't," Jess said hotly, stopping to draw breath. "Jonesy musta washed 'em in extra hot water."

Slim waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "For the sake of your unconceived children, wear something a little less constricting."

At the very idea of cutting off the blood supply to the family jewels, Jess looked down quickly and broke out in chill bumps. "Uh... maybe you're right about that." He hastily peeled out of the gray wool. "Don't see why I can't just wear denims. It's just a dance…"

"It's a _formal_ dance… not a hoedown in a barn. What about the black pair you bought last week? They'll do."

"With my white Sunday shirt? I'll look like a preacher... or a waiter."

"Not with your black brocade vest with the silver embroidery. You'll look just fine. No one'll be inspecting your pants."

Slim returned to the mirror to adjust the modest ruffles adorning the placket of his pale blue-gray shirt... the one Sally'd bought for him because, she said, it perfectly matched his eyes.

"You gonna hog that mirror all day?"

"I'll be done in a minute." Slim was trying to decide between a string tie or a cravat, fixing on the latter.

Jess slipped on the black trousers—form-fitting, the way he liked... but with more spacious accommodation where needed. Next he rummaged in his bureau drawer for a decent pair of socks without a hole or an obvious darn. No such luck.

"Can I borrow a pair a your black socks?"

"Go ahead." Slim used a dab of pomade to slick back his hair.

Jess nudged him out of the way, muttering "Is my hair okay? Shoulda got a haircut last week..."

Slim shouldered him aside. "Too late now."

Jess donned his pleated-point white shirt with opalescent buttons and tucked it in. "If you ain't gonna wear that string tie can I use it?"

"Help yourself. Have you seen my cufflinks?"

"No. Hey... don't use all the bay rum. Leave some for me!"

 **Each having gussied himself up** to his satisfaction, they sat on their respective beds to slide on boots that'd been polished to a high sheen. In simultaneous moves so smooth they could have been choreographed, each reached under his bed to retrieve a Gladstone bags. Both froze, eyeing each other with suspicion.

"What're you _doing?_ " Slim hissed, getting to his feet.

"What're _you_ doin'?" Jess countered, also standing up.

They advanced toward each other.

"I asked first."

"I'm stayin' overnight."

" _I'm_ staying overnight... I've already got plans."

"Me, too," Jess scowled.

"We can't _both_ be gone."

Practically nose to nose, they stared at each other in consternation until Slim broke the stalemate.

"Well... one or the other of us has to get up early enough to be back here for the ten o'clock stage."

Jess fished a double eagle out of a vest pocket. "Flip ya for it. Heads, I stay and you go... tails, I go and you stay."

"Fair enough."

The coin landed heads up on the top of Jess' hand.

"Well, dammit," Slim fumed, throwing items into his bag.

"Sorry about that!"

"No you're not."

They exited the bedroom to find an empty parlor and kitchen. The tree party was aready outside, about to embark on their mission.

Young Doc whistled. "Who're you dandies and what've you done with Sherman and Harper?"

"They do scrub up nice, don't they?" Sally commented.

"Buckboard's hitched up and ready to go," Andy announced.

"Yeah... well... might as well put it back. I have to come back early in the morning, so we'll have to ride in separately." Slim glowered and Jess looked smug. "Andy... would you mind saddling Alamo and Traveller for us?"

"Wait… mind if _we_ take the buckboard instead of my surrey?" Doc asked.

"That's fine."

 **While Slim and Jess waited** for the horses to be brought around, Sally explained how an innocently-planned sortie had evolved into a full-blown invasion. She'd promised Jacob that this year he could choose the Christmas tree for their parlor when they went out to the Sherman ranch to get one. Then her brother had invited himself along with his two children, thinking to give them an outing and at the same time appease his wife—Pearl had been nagging about getting _their_ tree. Jacob and his cousins Eustace and Eulalie Whatleigh had clamored for their playmates—Horace, Lucretia and James Jackson—to be included in the adventure... which would give their mother, Sally's housekeeper, a break. The Jacksons inhabited the downstairs portion of the rambling Victorian pile Sally had inherited from her in-laws. Martha hinted that a tree of their own wouldn't go amiss. Sally's stable manager Avery—Martha's husband—had pointed out they'd need additional transport and delegated his oldest son Orville to drive it.

"So there you have it, Matt," Sally said, concluding her recitation. "I hope you'll forgive our barging in on you like this and preparing to denude your forest..."

"You're all very welcome," Slim responded graciously, which he could afford to be—having plenty of trees and not being the one having to ride herd on all those young 'uns.

Jess, on the other hand, was torn between the adult pleasures of dancing with a pretty girl and other indulgences to follow, and the childishly delightful prospect of a high-spirited hayride. Having to make grown-up choices could sometimes be a harsh dilemma.

Andy led the two saddle horses out of the barn. As Jess and Slim prepared to mount, Sally fired a sly grin in their direction.

"Tell Carrie I said 'hi' and Miss DeNamur that I'm looking forward to meeting her."

"You boys have a great time. Try not to mash too many toes an' stay outta trouble," Jonesy echoed.

"As if!" Young Doc mumbled.


	33. Chapter 33

_Chapter 33_ _ **—**_ **MAMA SAID**

" _ **Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent."**_ _(Friedrich Nietzsche)_

 **A mile down the road,** Slim belatedly reflected that he might've made an error in judgment—that perhaps they should've taken the buckboard after all, with his saddle horse tied behind. He knew that Jess'd been putting in a few minutes every day riding bareback in the corral to strengthen his muscles and regain his seat—but he hadn't taken into consideration that the man might not yet be physically up to twelve miles in the saddle. Slim'd pretended not to notice the difficulty Jess'd had in mounting up, although once aboard he seemed all right.

After weeks of inactivity, Traveller and Alamo were prancing with pent-up energy—snorting, fighting bits, tossing heads. At any other time they might've been allowed to run off steam but Slim didn't want to take any chances, keeping to a steady amble on a tight rein. Jess grumbled that at this rate it would take them three hours to reach their objective.

"You don't want to get there all dusty and sweaty, do you?" Slim bantered.

Jess muttered something unintelligible in response, endeavoring to put some space between the two horses. The stablemates liked to travel close enough together to exchange playful nips and purposefully bump each other... which meant riders' legs and stirrups also occasionally clashed. If there was an upside, it was that Jess and Slim were able to carry on a conversation without raising their voices. They'd barely been out of sight of the ranch when Jess posed a question...

"How come you didn't ask Sally to the dance 'stead a some gal you just met?"

"Sally doesn't dance," Slim said. "Claims she's as clumsy as a three-legged buffalo." Which he knew to be a fact. Dancing was one pastime they'd never enjoyed on their Cheyenne escapades.

"You ever thought about you an' her gettin' hitched?"

"Why would we want to do that?" Slim parried. "I don't think we'd make a good match."

"Didn't you and her...?"

"We're not a couple," Slim cut him off. "Never have been."

"If you say so. She probably feels bad 'bout bein' left out, though."

Another mile went by with a caterpillar of guilt trying to inch its way into Slim's conscience.

"Don't you want a family a your own some day?" Jess persisted.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to settle down... it's a huge responsibility."

"Looks to me you're as settled as you're ever gonna get... got your own ranch an' all..."

"Material possessions aren't all that important, Jess."

"They are when ya don't have any..." Words lightly spoken but with an air of hopelessness behind them.

"Sally's a great gal, but..."

"But what?"

"Ma always said I'd know the right one when she came along."

"This liberry gal... you think she might be the one?"

"I've spent exactly one hour in conversation with the woman... lady. We don't know each other. I suspect she might be out of my class."

"Like you're outta mine..."

Slim was so shocked he inadvertently yanked back on the reins and Alamo sidehopped in indignation. "What the hell... what made you say that?"

Jess had halted also, and it seemed to Slim he wasn't sitting quite as easily as he had been. "You know what I mean."

"You doing okay?" Slim asked, frowning. A shiver of anxiety brushing the back of his neck.

"I'm fine. Let's get movin'." Jess said brusquely, touching spurs to Traveller's flanks.

 **The partygoers were coming up** on the four mile marker, blazed on the trunk of a lone pine by the side of the road. Aside from sporadic test jerks at the reins, the horses appeared to have given up on the idea of going for a run. Slim's peripheral vision was yielding ominous clues that all was not well with Jess. And as usual the man was attempting to conceal it. Every time he saw Slim turn his head, he straightened up. But by the six mile marker he was hunched forward, listing slightly to port and with a death grip on the horn. Slim called a halt where an outcropping of rock close to the verge made a convenient place to sit.

"Why're we stopping?" Jess was making a poor show of being annoyed.

Slim dismounted and got a grip on Traveller's headstall. "Rest break. Get down."

"Don't need a break."

"Down. Now. Or I'll pull you off."

For a moment Slim thought he might actually have to follow through on the threat... then Jess acquiesced with a nod before gingerly dismounting. Still clutching the horn, he did a slow belly slide and landed with all his weight on his left leg. Slim reached out and grasped him by the upper arm. Jess tried to shake him off.

"Gimme a second... just a cramp, is all. It'll pass..."

With their faces only a few feet apart, Slim verified what he couldn't clearly see earlier—that Jess' face had gone ashen and strained. He could feel the rigidity in the other's arm muscles. Jess tried to step away from the horse's side and stumbled. Would've fallen if Slim hadn't been spotting him.

"Best thing for cramp is walk it off. Come on," Slim ordered. He would've liked to tether the horses for insurance but couldn't do that and maneuver Jess at the same time. He'd have to trust their ground-tie training would prevail over any urges to bolt.

After a few minutes of perambulating in circles Slim walked his partner over to the rocks and lowered him to a flat-topped boulder. "Stay right there while I tie up the horses."

That done, Slim returned. "Tell me what's happening, Jess."

"Told you... just cramps. We can go in a few minutes."

"Maybe, maybe not. Where exactly are you hurting?"

"Hip, mostly. Knee and ankle some. Just sorted seized up on me."

"Why didn't you say something earlier? We could've turned back."

"Wasn't botherin'me earlier. Ain't no big deal, Slim, I'm tellin' ya. Already easin' up."

 **Slim then noticed something** that boosted his anxiety to the next level. The nature of a stain on black material is difficult to discern... however, there was no doubt about the red smear left on the rock when Jess shifted his leg to a more comfortable position. The entry wound on his thigh hadn't required stitches, but the exit wound had... and those had been removed only the week before. Commanding himself to keep the worry off his face, Slim pointed.

"You seem to've sprung a leak there, pard."

"Huh? Oh..." Jess looked down in surprise. When he instinctively reached down to feel the back of his leg, his fingers came away bloody. "Well, shit!"

"Hang on." Slim went to rummage in his saddlebags and came back with two clean bandannas. "Okay. Stand up and drop your pants."

"Are you nuts?" Jess squawked. "Right here in the road?"

Slim observed that out they were on a level stretch with an open line of sight both ways. "Your dignity is my least concern. No one's coming and we need to stop the bleeding before it gets any worse."

Jess levered himself to his feet and did as told. Fortunately, he'd worn the knee-length drawers that could be rolled up out of the way.

"It's not that bad," Slim commented, adjusting the improvised pressure bandage and rolling down the stretchy fabric. "Just some seepage... but we don't want it to get any worse."

"What's with the 'we'? It's _my_ leg's got a hole in it," Jess grinned, pulling up his britches. Though looking more composed, his hands shook as he buttoned up.

"It's my fault we're out here six miles away from anywhere and you can't ride," Slim grunted.

"I can too ride... an' how's it your fault?"

"Young Doc made me promise I'd keep an eye on you and not let you do too much for another few weeks..."

"Yeah... well... you caught a bullet, too, an' he didn't say for you to take it easy, did he?"

"My shoulder isn't in contact with a saddle and I didn't spend eight weeks in a cast."

"Come on... let's go. Sooner we get to town, happier I'll be."

"Somehow I doubt you can do another six miles... let me think about this..." Slim paced back and forth, then hauled out his pocket watch. "It's two o'clock now... stage won't be through for another two and a quarter hours..."

"Don't know 'bout you but I'm freezin'. We can't sit around that long an' anyway I ain't ridin' no stage!" Radiating obstinacy, Jess started hobbling toward his mount only to be pulled up short by Slim's determined hand.

"Let... go... of... me," he growled. "You're fixin' to make me mad."

Slim turned loose and threw his hands up. "Go on, then... since you can't be reasonable. We'll see how far you get."

Jess untied Traveller and hauled himself up by brute force, spurring his animal to a lope without a backward glance. Slim sighed and mounted Alamo, not bothering to try to catch up but following at a distance. As expected, the distant horse and rider loomed larger as he gained on them, the lope having slowed to a trot before coming to a complete halt. By the time Slim arrived, Jess had slithered off and once again was leaning against his horse for support. Slim didn't dismount but folded his arms over Alamo's withers, _'I told you so'_ writ large on his face.

Jess appeared close to passing out this time. "I give in. You were right. You're always right..." he said bitterly. "I'll wait here for the damned stage. You go on. No sense in both of us missing out."

"When pigs fly," Slim grunted, looking around for a good place to shelter. He spotted a fallen log in a copse of trees not too far off the road. It would have to do.

Once he got Jess situated, Slim constructed a windbreak from their everpresent bedrolls—even on an innocuous trip to town it was always advisable to be prepared. There were plenty enough deadfalls to get a modest fire going—enough to keep the chill off while they waited for the stage. Slim figured the best way to keep his buddy's mind off his misfortune was to keep him talking.

" **Tell me about Carrie Compton..."**

Jess darted a suspicious glance. "Why dya wanna know? You ever meet 'er?"

"No. I know _of_ her but we've never been introduced."

"Whaddya mean, you know _of_ her? What've you heard?"

"Only what Sally had to say..."

"That she used to be a whore an' now she ain't?"

"Sally's never said anything rude about her _or_ her previous… job, so don't get your dander up."

Slim locked his eyes on Jess' to be sure he had his full attention. He spoke quietly but intently.

"And while we're on the subject, I don't want Andy adding _'whore'_ to his vocabulary… even though that profession's been around since biblical times _and_ he knows what it means—thanks to you. Prostitution is a last resort for most of them... no other way of keeping the wolf from the door. I prefer the term _'working girl'_."

"Okay, she ain't a workin' girl no more," Jess bristled.

"I wasn't asking about that anyway. She's now a legitimate businesswoman in a skilled trade and that's that."

"That don't sound much better."

"Jess... please! Let me finish. The reason I know _of_ her is that Sally knows most of the working girls in town by name. And she's friends with a lot of 'em..."

"How would she...?"

"Will you shut up and listen? Young Doc looks after most of them... privately, discreetly. His practice would suffer if that got around so you keep your mouth shut, okay? He makes house calls and Sally often goes with him to assist."

"Assist with... what?"

"Use your imagination, Jess. Illnesses, accident prevention... and accidents that've already happened and need to unhappen. Which is against the law. Sometimes an accident can't be fixed and they arrange an adoption. You get my drift?"

"Oh... uh... got it." Jess was mystified.

 _Men don't talk about these things, do they? Slim's sure different from any other friend I ever had. Always wantin' to get inside my head to know what I'm thinking an' feeling… then he gets all serious an' I don't get half a what he's talkin' about…_

"Getting back to Miss Compton. What is it you like about her... as a woman—aside from the obvious?" Slim made a supreme effort to pretend he didn't notice the blush.

"Well... she's pretty. She has a nice figure... an' she's soft, kinda like a kitten, I guess. She always smells nice."

"That's good... but it's just the outside. What's she like as a person?" Slim encouraged.

"She's easy to talk to. She listens. She's funny. She makes me feel like... like I'm somebody..." Jess' voice trailed off.

Slim added more wood to the fire and settled next to Jess with his back against the log. There was nothing they could do about their predicament but wait. Maybe this enforced togetherness was what they'd been needing all along to repair the rift...

"Tell me about your brothers and sisters…"

 **Buckboard in the lead,** the Christmas tree procurement detail convoyed east on the stage road, cutting off after a mile onto a faint track at the foot of a ridge. Andy was driving with Sally as co-pilot, the straw-strewn bed bouncing with gleefully screaming children. Orrie Jackson and Young Doc followed in the spring wagon, carrying tree-felling equipment and a spool of heavy-duty hemp cordage. Lily'd been left in Kim's care. Jonesy'd been grateful to be excused from traipsing about in the freezing woods.

Andy headed the team directly toward an isolated stand of blue-green Colorado firs crowning the crest of the ridge. Many years ago Mary Grace Sherman had designated this patch as a no-cut zone for the cultivation of future Christmas trees. To that end she'd ridden out several times each season to thin out seedlings in order to encourage denser growth of prospects. Jonesy and the brothers had continued the tradition.

The selection process went rapidly. Sally identified the chosen ones with string and cardboard tags to ensure each would go to its proper home. While Andy, Orrie and her brother wielded axes, Sally put the children to filling burlap sacks with fir cones and deer lichen for ornamental use. It took more time to bundle and secure the four nominees than it did to chop them down. By then the children were cold, bored, tired, hungry and fretful.

Back at the ranch house, Jonesy had snacks on the table. Plied with hot chocolate and molasses and oatmeal raisin cookies, the children were more than ready for naps. Once they were put down in the big bedroom, two to a bed, the grown-ups gathered for their own refreshments. Jonesy'd mulled some hard apple cider to go along with the pound cake he'd baked just that morning.

Young Doc and Orrie decided to go for a walk. The three older men excused themselves for their afternoon naps—Opie and Mild Bill to their campwagon and Jonesy to his bedroom—leaving Kim and Sally to rest in the rockers by the fireplace. Kim was still holding the sleeping baby.

"Want me to take her now?" Sally offered.

"She's fine. I've had plenty of practice at this... and I enjoy it."

"Most men wouldn't."

"I'm not most men, Sally."

"You can say that again! So... you really, _really_ have seven daughters?"

"Would I lie about a thing like that? Yes... I really, _really_ do."

"Will you tell me about them?"

"Sure... Anela Lilianna is the eldest, born to Pélé—she'll be ten on June sixth."

"You mean you actually remember their birthdates?"

"Well... yeah... why wouldn't I? Next in line is Caterina Noelani, nine on February eighth..."

 **In the improvised layby on the stage road,** Jess reluctantly spoke of his deceased siblings—a subject he'd rarely shared with anyone. Somehow he felt better for having done so. Slim was reciprocating when he suddenly held up a hand.

"Someone's coming... sit tight... I'll see who it is." He stood up, as a precaution loosening his gun in its holster. Screened by bushes, he identified the travelers long before they even saw him. No mistaking the giant brown-speckled grey mule for any other creature in the district... or the driver of the two-wheeled cart for anyone rather than Father Sean Flynn. The passenger was Lychee McNutt. Slim stepped out into the road and flagged them down.

The imperturbable priest merely lifted a shaggy eyebrow. "Goin' to the Christmas Dance, were ye?"

"That was the idea... but we've got a small problem." Slim went on to explain the circumstances. "Where're you two headed, anyway? Can you give Jess a lift?"

"Oddly enough, we're on our way to your place to see Kim," Lychee said, adding, "Business."

Slim narrowed his eyes. "Anything I should know about?"

The priest and the lawyer exchanged glances. Lychee answered.

"Eventually, yes. But we have to talk to him first."

"Is this concerning his... uh... legal problems?"

"You know I can't discuss that with you, Slim... but yes."

Slim shifted his attention to Father Sean. "And your part in this...?"

"Is more a domestic issue than of a spiritual nature... but my presence is required and I'm afraid that's all I'm allowed to divulge at the present time."

"Is this going to cause more trouble at the ranch? I guess you know what's happened recently... and I don't want any more of it."

"Nothing is going to happen in the near future... and when matters near resolution, they can be conducted in town... in my office," Lychee assured him.

"Or at the church... we have a new community hall, you know," Father Sean advised.

"So I've heard. So how about it? Can you get Jess back to the house?"

" **I have an idea...,"** Lychee ventured when Slim'd returned to the cart with his badly limping partner. "You're more than halfway to town already and it seems a shame to disrupt your plans. How about if we turn around and Jess and I swap places?"

Lychee grinned at Jess' disgruntled expression—appearing on the streets of Laramie in a mule-drawn cart would be even more ignominious than riding the stagecoach. "Don't sweat it, Harper... we'll swap back once we cross the bridge. That way you'll only have to manage a couple of blocks in the saddle to Young Doc's office."

Jess perked up at that face-saving proposition until Slim cut in. "That's a big imposition on you _and_ the padre... what about your meeting with Kim?"

"No trouble a'tall, my son," Father Sean boomed. "Our business with Kim is not all that urgent. It will keep for another time."

With the temporary encampment dismantled and Jess installed next to the priest, Lychee mounted Traveller and away they went.


	34. Chapter 34

_Chapter 34_ _ **—**_ **MERRY CHRISTMAS**

" _ **The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree is the presence**_

 _ **of a happy family all wrapped up in each other."**_ _(Burton Hillis)_

 **All things considered,** the week leading up to Christmas went rather well. Jess' disappointment at not being able to actually dance at the dance was ameliorated by the shower of attention he received from a plethora of unattached young ladies—so much that Carrie Compton declared she was exhausted from fending off the competition. And although Jess urged her to accept repeated invitations to take the floor, she remained steadfastly by his side.

Upon being introduced to each other by Slim, Carrie and Beatrice Evrard hit it off immediately, as did Beatrice and Sally when the latter put in a spectacular appearance in unfamilar female finery with Lindsay 'Lychee' McNutt on one arm and Luca 'Lucky' Giancomo on the other. Later, when Beatrice speculated which of those two fine-looking gentlemen might be the lady blacksmith's paramour, Slim privately clued her in on the men's relationship and she dissolved in helpless mirth. Confessing she was there more for the shock value than anything else and being hopelessly inept at anything more vigorous than the hesitation waltz, Sally chose to sit with Carrie and Jess in a show of solidarity.

The successful evening concluded with Jess spending that night and the next in Carrie's apartment and, at the hotel, Slim joining Beatrice in her room for a nightcap and a frolic. As arranged, Slim arose early the following the morning to return to the ranch. On Monday Sally gave Jess a lift home in the Whatleigh's surrey, having skipped attending to the station horses the day before—better late than never.

Along with Jess, Sally's son Jacob and baby Lily in her basket, the surrey carried presents in the form of boxes of edible goodies and a mysterious wooden crate. When Sally'd stopped by the post office to pick up her mail, the postmaster had requested she take along to the Sherman ranch a special delivery marked 'Fragile: Handle with Care', which'd come all the way from Germany. Unknown to her, similar boxes were to be delivered later that day to her and her brother's residences, and another to the rectory at Our Lady of the Prairie.

 **To make room for the Christmas tree,** the woodpile that normally occupied the southwest corner of the parlor had been relocated to the front porch. From the attic Andy'd brought down the box of homemade ornaments accumulated over the years: candle holders with clips, fashioned from tin by a grandfather Slim and Andy had never known; tiny wooden animals carved by their father Matthew Sr.; angels and snowflakes crocheted by their mother Mary Grace and stiffened with gum arabic; paper chain garlands proudly cut and assembled by Andy himself and sparkling with glued-on mica flakes.

The crate was the last thing to be unloaded from the surrey. Slim and Andy deposited it in the middle of the parlor floor then stood back in contemplation.

"Where'd it come from?" Slim asked suspiciously.

"Whaddya suppose it is?" Andy queried.

"Why don't you pry open the lid and find out?" Sally suggested.

Everyone crowded around in wonderment as, after the first layer of straw cushioning was removed, the contents proved to be an assortment of exquisite glass baubles nestled in tissue.

"There's been some mistake... they have to go back to the post office!" Slim sputtered.

"No mistake. I ordered them." Kim stepped forward, baby on hip. "You wouldn't take my money for taking care of me, so this is my present to the family."

"Dammit Kim... these must've cost a fortune," Slim said. "When...? How...? You haven't been off the ranch in three months..."

"Read in a magazine weeks ago that merchants back east are starting to import Christmas ornaments from Germany, so I asked Lychee to use his boss' resources to order them."

"I ain't never seen anything so pretty!" Andy breathed.

" ' _Haven't ever'_ , not _'ain't never'_ ," Slim responded automatically, recognizing that resistance was futile.

 **The bulk of the afternoon** was devoted to decorating the tree. Slim excused Andy from his normal chores, saying he and Sally would help Mild Bill and Opie tend to them along with the afternoon stage and the out-of-service horses. On strict instruction from Young Doc, Jess was relegated to a rocking chair with his leg elevated on the ottoman. From there he was content to serve as babyminder and dispense opinions on ornament placement by Andy and Jacob.

With Kim as his kitchen skivvy, Jonesy set about preparing a combination pre-Christmas and farewell dinner. Mild Bill and Opie were leaving the next day to rejoin their compadres at the Rocking W, the Whatleigh family's 'retirement ranch' for aged cowboys. Sally Whatleigh Lowenstein would be celebrating Christmas Eve and Day with her own family.

 **The remainder of the week slid by smoothly** with the compass-point neighbors—the Bartletts, Gantrys, Livingstons and Keoghs—dropping by to trade good wishes and holiday cheer as late as Christmas Eve.

Slim and Jess were relaxing in the facing rocking chairs by the fire. Kim and Andy were playing cards at the parlor table. Jonesy was puttering around in the kitchen, concocting some late night snack. The kitchen table was laden with myriad offerings from the other families, who'd gone home with bottles and jugs of Jonesy's liniment and homemade blackberry wine.

Jess was frankly bewildered, not seeing the point in exchanging jars of preserves and jams and loaves of sweetbread when they already had a root cellar and pie safe full of much the same items. Slim steepled his fingers and set in to explain the symbolism of sharing.

"Looks to me like we already got all we need," Jess observed.

"We do... and so do they... but this is the time of year when we demonstrate doing unto others. It's a verbal and physical acknowledgment of looking out for one another. It's how we build a community," Slim said.

"Nobody never done nothin' for my family. An' we never had nothin' like this..." Jess swept his hand toward the gloriously decorated tree sheltering the modest assemblage of packages.

"I know... and I'm sorry... but that's all in the past and we can't rewrite history. Our family's had its share of sorrow and tough times, too, but we've been blessed in always having a roof over our heads and enough to eat. The important thing for you to remember, Jess, is that _no man is an island_. You're part of _this_ family now... and, beyond that, part of _this_ community... today and tomorrow and the day after that." Slim fell silent, having run out of steam, but his grey-blue eyes held Jess' deep blue ones in thrall, willing him to understand.

Jess nodded his head slowly, thoughtfully. He wasn't too sure about this feeling he was experiencing... but he liked it. Liked it a lot. It was warm and comforting. The aloneness that had dogged his footsteps for as long as he could remember was losing his grip.

Searching his friend's face for a sign of illumination, Slim smiled inwardly in satisfaction. He was winning.


	35. Chapter 35

_Chapter 35_ _ **—**_ **A NEW YEAR**

" _ **New Year's Day... now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual."**_ _(Mark Twain)_

 **New Year's Day…** Sally, Carrie and Beatrice swooped in with the makings of a feast. Banned from his own kitchen, Jonesy was directed to join Slim, Jess and Kim in dismantling the Christmas tree, repacking the ornaments and restoring the parlor to normalcy. Andy was put in charge of minding Jake and Lily.

Somehow the three women managed to navigate around one another in the small kitchen. By late afternoon the parlor table was laid with another festive repast—the last of the holiday season.

Lychee'd sent word that, due to prior commitments, he and Father Sean would be unable to reprise the earlier aborted meeting with Kim at the ranch. However, as a consultation was still needed soonest, could Kim possibly come to them in town? Sheriff Corey assured that any danger in doing so was past. After dinner it was decided that Kim would ride back to town with the ladies and catch the coach to the ranch when his business was concluded. Although everyone was curious as to what that business might be, diplomacy ruled and no one... except Sally... dared ask.

Sally and Kim found themselves with a few moments of privacy as she rehitched the team to the surrey. "Everyone's about to expire with curiosity."

"I know."

"Including me."

"I know that, too."

"If it means you might be going home soon... well... I'm happy for you, of course... but..."

"I don't want to leave you, either, Sally... but I can't stay here. I have obligations..."

"We shouldn't have let things get this far. I blame myself."

"It's as much my fault as yours. We need to make a clean break... I'll stay at the hotel tonight."

"No... stay with me... it might be our last chance to be together."

"People will talk."

"Let them!"

A hail from Carrie on the front porch got their attention. "We're ready whenever you are..."

"Be right there..."

 **The house seemed unnaturally quiet.** The only sounds were the popping and hissing of resin-filled pine knots in the fireplace and the tic-toc of the ormolu clock on the mantel. With outside chores completed and the kitchen cleaned up and prepped for breakfast, the four official occupants planted themselves in the parlor in the expectation of resuming a typical evening at home—as life'd been three months ago... before Jess' accident and the advent of Kim.

Jonesy was applying himself to the neverending task of mending rips and replacing lost buttons. In the matching rocker, Jess was making a half-hearted attempt to darn socks. Slim was hunched over his ledger at one end of the table. At the other end, Andy's chin was propped on a fist as he gazed abstractedly into a far corner of the room, geography book lying open in front of him.

Slim looked up with a frown. He hadn't detected the rustle of a page being turned in some time. Ever since the incident with the Chinese men, he'd been allowing the boy to slack off from his responsibilities... but it was a new year and time for Andy to be reminded that free passes didn't last forever.

"Just because Kim's not here doesn't mean you don't have to study." Striving to deliver the message as a reminder rather than an accusation, Slim purposefully kept his voice low and tone light. "There's only eight more weeks until you take those entrance exams..."

Andy sighed, redirecting his attention to his brother. "Kim says I'll be ready... but..."

"But what?"

"What if he doesn't come back?"

"He said he would."

"But what if he doesn't?" Andy persisted.

"He gave me his word. I believe he'll keep it. Besides, I'm sure you can manage on your own from here on out..."

"Uh huh."

 _Encouragement,_ Slim reminded himself—Kim's oft-repeated advice to _him_...

"I'm proud of you, Andy. Even with everything that's happened, you've hung right in there and kept your nose to the grindstone. I've every confidence you'll nail those exams."

"I guess."

"What's really bothering you?"

 **Andy stared down at his book,** obviously not finding any help there.

"I'm not sure anymore that I wanna go so far away... to a strange place, where I don't know anyone..."

Slim felt the rebuke rising... but it didn't get past his teeth. Sensing he was being watched, he cut his eyes to Jess, who was nodding almost imperceptibly at him to keep a lid on it.

"Everyone feels that way when he first leaves home, Andy. I know I did. First few weeks I was so scared and homesick I wanted to sit in a dark corner and cry."

" _You?"_ Andy was plainly shocked. "You never said. I remember Ma telling later how you couldn't wait to go off and be a soldier. That you were happy for the chance to get away from here."

"I was. I was young like you, and wanted to see the world... well, at least, more of life beyond this ranch. War was a good excuse to go. I wouldn't recommend it, though. It'll be different for you... nobody'll be shooting at you. You'll be too busy learning and making new friends to get homesick."

 _I could tell him, too, that he won't be without family... that Jonesy'll be close by... but Jonesy hasn't yet committed to going and I don't want to put him on the spot... or give Andy false hopes..._

Andy still wasn't looking too convinced. "What if they don't like me at that school? What if I don't fit in with those city kids?"

"No sense worrying about that until you get there." Belatedly Slim realized that was pretty much a non-answer. Too, Jess was nodding his head again... _No. You have to do better than that!_

"There'll be lots of other country kids just like you... maybe not from Laramie, but little towns all over the territories... and all worried about the same thing."

"You think?" Andy brightened.

"Sure there will. In the prospectus for Smith Academy it says that more than fifty percent of freshman classes are made up of boys from out of town. That's one of the reasons I settled on that school."

A sneak peek at Jess garnered Slim a nod of approval... and a flash of annoyance. _Where does he get off weighing in on this discussion? Oh... yeah..._ family... _his opinion counts._

The expression on Andy's face assured Slim he'd said the right things which, he acknowledged privately, he might not've done had Jess not been present.

"You know what? I think you've done enough studying for tonight. Why don't you go ahead on to bed and get a fresh start in the morning?"

 **The noise of chairs scraping back** from the table brought Jonesy back to life. Allowing he needed some shut-eye (as if he hadn't been sawing logs for the past hour!), he and Andy made their goodnights and left the parlor. Once their bedroom doors had snicked shut behind them, Slim made a sortie to the root cellar and brought up a dusty cobwebbed bottle. Wiping it off and uncorking it in the kitchen, he brought it into the parlor along with two squat cut-glass tumblers.

"That don't look too medicinal to me," Jess remarked, leaning forward to take possession so Slim could settle his lanky frame into the vacated rocker.

"Ceremonial," Slim grunted, rooting around to adjust a pillow to just the right position at the small of his back. "You pour... fill 'em up!"

Slim held his glass up to Jess'. "To better times in a profitable new year for all of us." They clinked glasses and sipped. "Your turn..."

"To... uh... havin' a home an' good friends..." Jess offered, adding shyly, "an' a best friend name of Slim."

"Oh really? And here I was under the impression _Andy_ was your best friend..." Slim teased.

Jess had to think about that for a minute. "Andy's more like a kid brother to me... or a nephew. You're more like a big brother..."

Slim grinned. "Well, I'm honored to be either one or both... friend _and_ brother." Stretching out his long legs to appropriate half of the ottoman, he slumped back to balance his glass on his belly between interlaced fingers.

"Speaking of Andy... how'd I do... about the school issue?"

"You done good," Jess murmured, wary of treading too near that slippery slope again. "He needed to hear that. An' he needed to hear it from you."

"I'm gratified by your approval," Slim uttered with only the vaguest suggestion of sarcasm.

"You makin' fun a me?"

"Not at all. In fact... I'm admitting you're right. You've _been_ right all along. I've just been too pig-headed to see it..."

The look Jess was giving him was somewhere between derision and downright disbelief. "Uh... right about... _what?_ "

"About taking a softer approach toward Andy... more encouragement, less discipline. Not an attitude I learned from my own father, that's for sure. He was a good man, but stern and unforgiving when things weren't going his way."

"That why you joined up?" Jess asked. They'd hardly ever talked about the war years and he was curious why Slim was bringing up the subject now.

"Partly, I suppose. Farming was in his blood. He was fixated on the idea of the two of us someday running the biggest wheat spread in the Laramie Basin..."

"Didn't you and him do some drovin' together?"

"Just the one time, when I was real young... out of necessity—we needed the money. I kept telling him I wanted to be a rancher, not a farmer. I wanted to go to college and learn animal science and how to breed better cattle. He wouldn't listen. Ma was on my side. They fought a lot about it. In the end it was easier for me to just leave."

"Andy don't wanna be a rancher."

"I know that. I've always known it. That's why I'm so determined he gets the education our mother wanted for him, since she couldn't make it happen for me."

"Dya think he really means it... about not wantin' to go now?"

"No. I think it's just a case of cold feet because Kim's not here to hold his hand. Once he realizes he's smart enough to get through the study guides on his own he'll be alright."

"Even if Kim don't come back?"

"Even if he does, we've got to get used to the idea he might be leaving sooner than anticipated."

"Because a what Lychee and the padre wanna talk with him about? I can see where he needs a lawyer... but what's the priest's part in this?"

Slim shrugged. "Not our business to ask, Jess... unless it brings more trouble our way." He reached for the bottle, surprised to find they'd sipped their way almost to the bottom.

"I'm hoping, before he does leave, Kim sees fit to tell us his story. Just like maybe someday—when you decide you're comfortable enough—you might feel like sharing yours..."

"It ain't all that interestin', Slim... an' it ain't pretty. You damned sure wouldn't like what you'd hear."

"Oh... no doubt about that, but none of us are perfect. The things you've done, the things that've happened to you... they all shaped you into the man you are today. Same goes for me."

"There's a better than even chance the past ain't done with me yet," Jess warned.

"We'll burn those bridges when we cross 'em, pard!" Slim declared.


	36. Chapter 36

_Chapter 36_ _ **—**_ **CAUSE AND EFFECT**

" _ **Choices made, whether bad or good, follow you forever and affect**_

 _ **everyone in their path one way or another."**_ _(J.E.B. Spredemann)_

 **Saturday, January 7, 1871...** The first week of the year had passed so routinely that the residents of the Sherman ranch could almost delude themselves into believing the events of the prior three months had been only a bad dream...

Both Slim and Jess were extremely fortunate in that their wounds had healed quickly and cleanly with no further setbacks. Thanks to daily physical therapy sessions—riding bareback in the pasture—Jess was able to tolerate longer periods of time in the saddle without cramping up. He fully expected to be in top form by calving season and spring roundup.

When not sleeping, eating or carrying out chores, Andy applied himself to his studies with dogged determination... to the extent that Slim worried he was going to damage his eyesight. He went so far as to ask Jess to pretend his recuperation was taking longer than it actually was, so that Slim could reasonably request Andy's help in riding fence or out to the winter pastures to check on the gravid cows.

Enjoying a spell of pain-free mobility, Jonesy was relieved to once again be in sole command of his kitchen.

Mose Shell was on a leave of absence having to do with a family emergency (neither Slim nor Jonesy'd ever heard the man speak of living family). The new substitute stage driver—Luke Perry—seemed a nice enough if taciturn fellow, not inclined to idle conversation or dispensing news of happenings in town. Though dry, the weather continued cold and blustery and there were few travelers in either direction.

 **Jonesy's weekly inventory revealed** enough supplies on hand that a market trip wasn't necessary. He and Andy were in the barn soaping harness leathers. Slim and Jess'd just seen off the ten o'clock stage and were setting rodent traps in the grain bins.

The denizens of the pasture heralded the imminent arrival of company with a chorus of whinnying. Everyone came out of the barn as Young Doc's buggy pulled into the yard with Sally following behind on horseback. Grins broke out all around when Kim hopped out of the passenger side. Slim was the first to step forward and shake his hand.

"Good to see you back. Wasn't sure that was gonna happen."

"Neither was I," Kim answered obscurely.

"Get your business all taken care of?"

"Yes... and no. Took longer than we thought. I'll explain later."

"I'll go put the pot on," Jonesy announced. "You stayin' for lunch, Fred?"

"I believe I will. Nothing urgent up the road that I need to attend to right away."

"Come on inside and keep me company, then." Jonesy and the doctor veered away toward the house.

Electing to carry Sally's toolbox from the buggy boot to the forge, Slim walked with her as she led her mare into the barn.

Jess, Kim and Andy were left standing in the yard.

"How's everything?" Kim inquired politely. "I expected I'd be back sooner but..."

"Been real peaceful. Downright boring, matter a fact!" Jess joshed. "Almost forgot you lived here!"

Kim gave him an odd look.

"Just pullin' your leg," Jess amended, seeing his joke wasn't well taken.

"I'm sure glad you're back," Andy cut in. "I finished everything you gave me to do last week and I'm ready for something new."

Kim gave him a playful poke. "That was two weeks' worth. You're getting ahead of yourself... and me!"

 **Morning chores'd been completed,** including—with Slim's assistance—Sally's foot-and-shoe inspections. A three-hour respite loomed until time to prepare for the afternoon stage. For dessert after lunch Jonesy had baked three kinds of pie, which the diners were enjoying along with another round of coffee. Young Doc and his sister alternated bringing the ranch folks up to speed on the latest doings in town. After all the news of note had been disseminated along with flavorful tidbits of plain old garden-variety gossip, one omission became unavoidably and glaringly obvious.

Slim sat back in his chair at the head of the table—Jonesy, Andy and Jess to his left and Sally and Kim to his right. Young Doc occupied the foot.

"What about you, Kim? Did you bring back any good news from Counselor McNutt and Father Flynn?"

Kim shrugged. "Some good, some not so good... and a lot undecided. Sally already knows most of it."

"That may well be, but the rest of us are still in the dark. I mean, we're prepared to continue backing you up, but it would be helpful to know why. You owe us that."

"He's right, Kim," Sally unexpectedly concurred, seguing into the role of moderator. "So let's pretend I'm hearing it for the first time myself."

"I don't know where to start... it's complicated."

Though maintaining a cordial tone, the steel in Slim's voice was palpable. "Then uncomplicate it for us. For starters, should we expect any more visitations from folks with unfriendly intentions?"

"Hopefully not... as far as we know, most all the bounties have been withdrawn, but it'll take a few weeks for the news to circulate and trickle down. You missed your chance to cash in, Slim."

"Not funny."

"No. It isn't. Legally, I'm in the clear. My case went before the Hawai'ian supreme court two months ago and it was dismissed."

"Just like that?" Jess voice was incredulous. "You gut somebody like a hog an' get away with it?"

"The ruling was accidental death. All charges were dropped."

"An' you're just now hearin' about it?"

"It takes ten days for a steamship to transit the Pacific Ocean from Hawai'i to California. Once a letter gets there it has to go through your postal system to the office of my San Francisco attorneys, then they send a telegram to Lychee... Counselor McNutt. So any correspondence takes about two weeks in each direction. A lot of money changed hands to keep this from becoming public. The court proceedings... when it finally got that far... were held _in absentia_ and _in camera_ because..."

"What's that mean?" Jess asked.

"I know, I know!" Andy raised a hand in excitement. "Kim's been teaching me Latin!"

"By all means, let's hear what you've learned," Slim said.

"Well... _in absentia_ means Kim wasn't there in person and _in camera_ means it was secret... no spectators or journalists?"

"That's correct," Kim said.

"Why?" Jess asked.

Slim raised an eyebrow. "We appreciate your enthusiasm, Jess... but could you hold your questions to the end? I'd like to hear this story before I grow old and die."

"Just wanted to know why it was secret," Jess pouted. "We don't do trials that way here."

"The short explanation," Kim said, "is that Hawai'i's entire economy is based on trade with the United States and the Far East. It's an extremely delicate balance between planters, shippers and financiers. Anything that disrupts that balance could be disastrous to the economy. I'm not that important as an individual... but what I did pitted two houses against each other and it became a matter of neither one losing face... or the confidence of their investors."

"Just 'cause you killed _one_ man?" Jess wouldn't be deterred.

"A very important man. His death created a void in the power structure that's got a lot of people scrambling to be the next top dog."

Slim couldn't contain his curiosity, either. "So the news reported accidental death?"

"Yes. He slipped on a wet tile and fell on his own knife."

"And they're buying this?"

"It's in everyone's best interest to shove it under the rug."

" **Seems to me,"** Jonesy observed, "a man's just found out he ain't gonna hang oughta be a mite more cheerful about it. Don't this mean you get to go home?"

"Of course I'm glad I wasn't found guilty," Kim retorted. "That gets the law off my back. How his family feels about it is something else again. They're not going to let it go so easily."

"This past week in town, you didn't feel threatened? Did Sheriff Corey keep an eye on you?"

"Didn't see him. I stayed with the Wings, mostly." _Except at night, when Lee Wing's security detail guarded another house... as they're now guarding this one. But you'll never know they're there..._ "His security's very efficient."

"I have one more question..." Slim had his arms folded in somewhat of a judgmental posture although not aware of it.

"What's that?"

"Why'd you do it?"

"Let me clarify, Slim, that it was in self-defense—he attacked me first. My intention was only to confront him and warn him off..."

"Warn him off... _what?_ "

"He was a child molester."

There was a collective sharp intake of breath among the other four adult males at the table... along with expressions of revulsion.

"Can't think of a better reason for killin' a man!" Jess growled.

"Killin's too good for perverts like that," Jonesy grunted.

Andy looked confused and opened his mouth. "What's a per...?"

Slim held up a hand. "Not now, Andy. I'll explain later."

Sally took over. "It appears we're in agreement that Kim had good cause, so let's move on..."

"You mean there's _more?_ "

"There's always _more,_ Slim. Kim didn't just pick a man at random and decide to enact vigilante justice... he had a personal reason."

"Oh?"

"You sure you want to hear all this?" Kim asked.

"I am now!"

" **Go on, Kim... tell them about your two wives,"** Sally prodded with a wicked grin. "Frankly, as much complaining as I've overheard around the livery about existing wives, I can't see why a man would more than one. Now a mistress... _that_ we can all understand... except maybe for Andy."

"Excuse me, Sally..." Slim interrupted, "but I don't believe this is something Andy needs to be hearing about at his age."

"Why not?" Andy queried. "I already know about..."

Slim threw Jess a venomous glance. "No thanks to Mister Blabber Mouth over there."

"Now you hold on just a doggone minute..." Jess jumped in.

"I disagree, Matt," Sally said. "I'm fairly certain what we're about to hear is more informative in a cultural sense than licentious in nature."

"Well... all right then. But I reserve the right to send him out of the room," Slim muttered.

"Fair enough," Sally agreed. "Andy... please remember that while _our_ society doesn't sanction plural marriage, it's an acceptable practice in other parts of the world."

"What about the Mormons, Miss Sally?" The boy couldn't resist... "I've heard they..."

"Hush... or I'll kick you out myself!"

"Yes, m'am."

"First of all, I have only _one_ wife... her name is Ysabel. When I go home, it won't be to _her._ "

"You sound very sure about that," Slim said.

"It was _her_ father I killed."

Eyebrows shot up around the table.

 **Kim focused directly on Sally,** as if they two were the only ones present.

"Pélé isn't an official wife... more of a consort, you might say. She was _hanai_ to my mother and stepfather's house. It means..."

Sally interrupted for the benefit of the others. "We have a similar custom... here we call it 'fosterage'."

"We were raised together. We'd both just turned sixteen when she... we... had a baby."

"That's _definitely_ not an appropriate subject!" Slim objected vehemently.

Sally overrode him. "Don't be such a prude, Matt. It's cultural tradition."

"Well... that's not _our_ way!" Slim wasn't mollified.

Ignoring what she felt was priggishness, Sally turned back to Kim. "Why didn't you two marry?"

"Pélé is _kanaka_ —pureblood Hawaiian. Her family won't give their blessing because I'm _hapahaole_... half-white. Less than half, actually."

"But the child...?"

"In their tribal hierarchy it's important to be sure that a girl can bear children before they agree on a marriage, so proof of fertility is a bargaining chip. But while they've been dragging their feet trying to peddle her to a pureblood family we've had two more daughters... and there was one on the way when I left. Another girl, so I've been told."

 **Jess had been silent up to now,** though following intently. "Why'd you need a wife if you already had a woman and kids?"

"I didn't. That's the complicated part. My biological father's half-caste... European and Chinese... inherited wealth—the family owns plantations all over Polynesia. He was visiting a copra plantation on Espiritu Santo in the New Hebrides when he bought my mother from one of the island chieftains."

"You mean... bought an' paid for... like a slave?"

"More like bartered, Jess... although that's neither here nor there."

Slim broke in. "Aren't the natives in that part of the world... well... aren't they dark? Like our... like people from Africa?"

"Darker-skinned than white people but not the same as Africans. And a lot of them have blonde hair and blue eyes. My mother does, and her father was a Frenchman... so..."

"Too complicated for me!" Slim shuddered. "Save it for Andy's social studies. You were saying about your father...?"

"I'm not in the line of descent, inheritance-wise... unless he stipulates that I am. Nor does he have a claim on me even though he acknowledges me as his son. But the blood connection is still useful. He's been more than generous to us... my mother and me... even after he pensioned her off in favor of a younger concubine. She later married a native islander.

"Ysabel's family made their fortune in shipping, based out of the Philippines. Her father was looking to establish a trade connection between Asia and the American continent via the Sandwich Islands—what we call Hawai'i. He had six sons and only one daughter. My half-sisters were too young to marry one of his sons, so her old man made mine an offer he couldn't refuse—discounted rates in return for entrée into American ports and guaranteed cargos. A marriage between our families would cement the deal.

"No one asked us how _we_ felt about it. She was nineteen. I was sixteen... too young to understand what I was getting into. Think about it... what teenage boy is going to turn down an opportunity to bed a beautiful girl and get the deed to the ranch for doing it? The icing on the cake was that if my mother agreed he promised he'd put me through college and graduate school."

"Why did he need your mother's permission?"

"Legally, and traditionally, fathers have no rights to natural children. Mothers are assumed to have sole custody."

"You didn't see anything wrong with this arrangement?" Slim demanded.

"Well... no. Not really. We all accepted that Pélé and I would never be allowed to marry."

"What ranch?" Jess wanted to know.

"It's just a saying, Jess," Sally assured him. "It doesn't literally mean a ranch although it involved a property settlement... yes?"

"Yes. My mother has a good head for business. She negotiated just short of two thousand acres worth, to be held in trust by her until I came of age."

Slim sneaked an uneasy peek at his brother, whose eyes were big as saucers.

 **Sally lifted an eyebrow.** "Beautiful wife, huh?"

"Stunning."

"And you have children with her as well?"

"Three girls. Ysabel blames me for that. She really wanted sons."

Distinctly uncomfortable with the subject matter, Slim was about to speak up when Kim looked directly at him.

"I apologize if you find this shocking. Marriages arranged for material gain are fairly commonplace in my world. And for continuation of bloodlines, of course.

Sally snorted. "No one wants to admit it but it's standard operating procedure among rich white families in this country, too."

A long pause ensued as everyone digested this.

"Ysabel and I understand each other only too well. You might say we enjoy mutual contempt. We did what we had to do to satisfy those two old men. It's a marriage of convenience, for financial benefit. She inherits a sizeable fortune when she turns thirty. For the most part we don't live together. She stays on her side of the island and I stay on mine."

"That sounds rather cold and heartless," Sally said.

Kim shrugged. "I have no emotional investment there except for the children."

"Have you considered divorce?"

"I _could_ petition for a secular divorce but that would get tangled up in court for years. We were married under Roman rites and her people are deeply religious. The Catholic Church doesn't condone divorce. Her brothers would've come after me if I'd tried. The only way she can be rid of me is if I'm dead... and now the sons have an even better reason to hunt me down."

 **Jonesy, too, had held back** from the conversation. "I have a question... where's them little girls now an' who minds 'em?"

"They all live on Maui... Jess, you recall me telling you about home?"

"Sorta..." _Um... not really._

"Children don't factor into Ysabel's social life in Lāhainā and Honolulu. Their _yaya_ —their Filipina governess—looks after them when they're not in class with their private tutors. I visit whenever Ysabel's out of town... or did, until this happened."

"An' the others?"

"They live on the Hāna plantation with their mother and four other interrelated families. The kids are considered community property so all the adults look after them. They go to school with the children of the other planters near the settlement. Once the little ones start walking the older children are responsible for minding them."

 _(_ _ **Nonie's note:**_ _Father-a-one Jonesy an' mother-a-one Sally was probably thinkin' that sure was a mess a young 'uns. Slim an' Jess both come from big families so it weren't nothin' outta the ordinary to them. All a Slim's siblin's aside from Andy died afore they was old enough to walk or talk. Jess' was so spread out age-wise he couldn't even remember the older ones what run off or the babies what didn't make it. He tried to forget the ones what perished in the house fire. Of the two survivors what escaped with him... Francie an' Johnny... one was reported dead an' the other presumed dead. They'd disappeared long ago.)_

" **If something happens to you, Kim...** what happens to your children by Ysabel?" Sally inquired.

"They'll continue being raised by surrogates and polished into proper young ladies. As each one reaches sixteen she'll be presented at a debutante ball, but the bidding war will've started long before that..."

"Bidding?"

"For suitors... or _by_ suitors... for advantageous matches... money, power, land... whatever the family can engineer." The expression of disgust on Kim's face made it clear he wasn't in favor of that outcome.

"I guess it's not so different from anyplace else in the world," Sally said. "Parents want the best for their offspring. What about the other four girls?"

"If their mother isn't around for some reason, they'll go to one or more of my other half-sisters. Native girls generally have freedom equal to boys... they can follow their hearts and marry whomever they choose... with guidance from their mothers and female relatives."

"Have the two sets of sisters ever met each other?"

"Oh sure... sometimes Ysabel's gone for weeks or months at a time, visiting her family in Manila or such. I bring the girls and their governess over to the plantation and turn 'em loose. They love it there. They cry when they have to go back."

"I should think Ysabel would object..."

"She can object all she wants. It's my right as their legal father. But, like I said earlier, because Pélé and I _aren't_ married, I have no rights regarding _those_ children."

" **That doesn't seem right,"** Slim grumbled. "A man's head of his household... er... households... no matter what the circumstances."

"Oh really?" Sally glowered. "So you believe that if you and I were to marry, for instance, you'd have absolute control of Jacob and Lily and I'd have none?"

"Well... no... what I meant was _someone_ has to be in charge and have the final say."

"Like if we were living here, in this house?"

"Yeah... my house, my rules."

"Excuse me! I was under the impression we were operating as a republic here, not a dictatorship!" Sally's words dripped scorn.

Andy was thinking _wonder why grown-ups fuss so much..._

Kim was thinking _these people have the attention span of squirrels..._

Jess was thinking _them two argue like they's already married..._

Jonesy was thinking _Final say my patootie! Slim's momma woulda set 'im straight! Mary Grace always had the upper hand in that family..._

"Gotta hand it to you, Kim... that beats all!" Jess exclaimed.

"Worse than a Mormon with eight wives and three dozen children?" Sally interjected.

"No... I reckon you got me there..."

 **Young Doc had remained quiet throughout.** When he raised his hand the bickering ceased. "I have a question."

"Well... speak up!" Slim snapped.

"As Sally said, all this has been most enlightening... and we're all pleased our friend's off the hook... but what happens next? Kim, do you have any plans?"

"Not any immediate ones, no. Andy and I have about seven weeks left before his exams."

"Then what? I rather doubt you'll be able to hop a steamer back to the islands and step right back into your old life."

"As it happens, my old life is already on a steamer and on her way here."

Sally's voice was the first to break the stunned silence. "Excuse me?" This was news even to her.

"Ysabel's coming."

" **He could've warned me!"**

Young Doc was holding Tar Baby's head while his thoroughly angry sister tightened the girth on her saddle. When she'd abruptly left the table earlier he'd given her a few minutes' head start to cool off. Kim'd wanted to follow immediately but Young Doc'd persuaded him to stand down.

"Let me handle this." He'd left the room leaving Kim looking distraught and everyone else bewildered. Now he was in the barn without much of a clue where to start calming down an agitated woman who'd just been informed of the impending arrival of her lover's wife.

"He doesn't know any more than that, I swear. We were having coffee with Lee this morning when Lychee came in with the telegram from Poot in San Francisco. Poot copied it from the message forwarded by Lee's factors in Honolulu to his Frisco reps."

"You mean his spies."

"Whatever. They've been monitoring the situation over there for some time but this got by them. All it said was 'Santiago party departed Honolulu Fri 6 Jan SS City of Santa Cruz'—guess she's traveling under her maiden name for some reason. 'EDA SF Tues 17 Jan'. With an overnight in the city and two days on the train, the earliest they can get here is Thursday or Friday week after next."

"He still could've said something."

"When? We got on the road right after that and Slim's been sticking to you like baby shit to a new blanket ever since. When would Kim've had an opportunity to tell you? Be reasonable... and what's that godawful stink?" Young Doc looked around, wrinkling his nose.

"Never you mind."

"Don't go away mad at Kim... this isn't his fault. He didn't _ask_ her to come here."

"Then why is she coming all this way unless she intends to force him to go home with her?"

"Will you at least talk with him before you go? Let me go in the house and send him out to you..."

"Not a good idea... not right now." Sally swung into the saddle.

Young Doc found himself struggling between his role as medical professional to a patient in need of consolation... and a brother—albeit a younger one—concerned for his sister's emotional well-being.

"Sally... I won't say I told you so, because I didn't... but you might recall that I did try to caution you about getting involved."

"I know you did... and I know you meant well."

"I understand. At least, I think I do... I wish you'd wait and ride home with me. We could talk it over..."

"No. I just need to work this out for myself. I'll be okay."

"How about if I drop by after dinner this evening?"

"That'd be fine. Now turn loose of my horse."

Watching until the black mare and her rider disappeared around the bend in the road, Young Doc walked back to the house. It occurred to him then what the source of that awful smell had been... the sour stench of vomit.


	37. Chapter 37

_Chapter 37_ _ **—**_ **WRETCHED EXCESS**

" _ **Does my complete lack of interest in your existence**_

 _ **conflict with your delusions of self-importance?"**_ _(unattributed)_

 **Monday, January 16th...** Sally'd shown up the prior Saturday, carrying on with her work as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She and Kim'd gone off on a ride afterwards. Jess'd offered Kim his remount, Scout, as Kim's own pony was clearly on the decline. Slim and Jess were in the corral, brushing down the replacement team for the four o'clock stage. They'd paused to watch the couple head out on the eastbound road.

On opposite sides of the same horse, Slim's and Jess' eyes met and held over the animal's back. Jess got that itch down the back of his neck that he sometimes got right before Slim called him out about something he'd done... or hadn't done.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that," Jess muttered.

"Something just occurred to me," Slim said slowly. "Something I should have cottoned to long before this..."

Feeling the heat rising from his shirt collar and the flush spreading across his cheeks, Jess looked away.

"Look at me," Slim commanded.

Jess didn't want to but found his gaze being inexorably drawn back to Slim's stink-eye stare.

"What?" It came out as a gulp.

"You know, don't you? You've known all along. You could've told me but instead you let me make a fool of myself."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Bullshit. I oughta whip your ass."

"Wait... wait! That ain't fair, Slim. Weren't my secret to tell. Besides, figured a smart fellow like you woulda caught on weeks ago."

"Who else knows about them?"

"Besides me? Well... Carrie, for sure. Mild Bill and Opie. Probably Young Doc 'cause Sally's his sister, after all. Jonesy, maybe. Andy, don't think so. Anyways... you got no call to get all riled up about losin' Sally... you got that new gal, Beatrice."

" _Losing?_ You mean you've known about that, too?"

"Only 'cause Kim told me right after he got here. Boy's got brain whiskers or somethin'. He senses stuff. Maybe he knows women better'n us on account a he's been married for so long."

"Could be," Slim mused, his stern expression turning rueful as he shook his head. "I just don't understand how Sally could've got herself into this situation... falling for a married man. She's always been the most common-sense female I've ever known."

"Yeah... well... I used to think I was pretty smart an' look where it got me... that Laurel bitch, for one."

"She was a piece of work, alright," Slim agreed.

"You ain't still mad at me, are you?" Jess asked anxiously. "Now that you know it really wasn't me got in the way..."

Slim chuckled. "A Russian novelist named Turgenev once wrote, 'women... can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em'."

"You can say that again!"

 **The** _ **City of Santa Cruz**_ **steamed into port** on the afternoon of Tuesday the seventeenth—right on schedule. From the moment the first hawser was flung down to the wharf a flurry of telegrams began arriving daily at Western Union's Laramie office, detailing every movement of 'the Santiago party'... from its procession and overnight accommodation at the Grand Hotel to its embarkation on the short-haul rail line to Sacramento and installation in a private car on the _Plainsman Zephyr._

The entire top floor of Laramie's premier hotel—the Mountain View—had been reserved via telegram. The proper and pompous proprietor, Monsieur Aristide Picard, would have eaten dirt and worms before divulging private information about his guests. However, his staff were nowhere near as scrupulous. Coins crossed palms from the night concierge down to the undermaid who carried out the thundermugs in the morning.

Before the Santiago party checked out of the Grand, before the _Zephyr_ even left the Sacramento station, Lee Wing's agents had dossiers on every single member of Maria-Ysabel Consuelo de los Reyes y Santiago's (aka Ysabel Kahále's) entourage. Wing wasn't the only one spreading around pocket money. The editor of the _Laramie Sentinel_ , Paxton Peabody, had got wind of the arrival of an important personage and was endeavoring to make the most out of it—it being a slow week in town with no jaywalkers, rapes, murders, stage holdups, bank robberies or Indian uprisings to speak of.

By Wednesday evening, mention of an imminent visitation by a wealthy Woman of Mystery had morphed into a royal audience by a Spanish princess... or possibly an internationally-acclaimed actress from the European continent. Everywhere two or more women gathered, in shops and at quilting bees and even in the lounges of sporting houses (between clients), the atmosphere was abuzz with speculation. The men weren't much better.

As yet no one had made the connection to Slim Sherman's reclusive guest.

 **Mose was back on duty on Thursday...** to everyone's profound relief. He could be counted on to glean every morsel of gossip and deliver it, with titillating embellishments, on his way to Cheyenne on the morning run. As Lychee had actual work to do for his employer, Lee Wing had appointed one of his young men to courier telegrams out to the ranch. Slim and Jonesy read them with increasing apprehension. Jess thought the whole business was the most ridiculous turn of events he'd ever heard of and teased Kim mercilessly.

"Trust Izzy to make a production out of this," Kim said glumly, before announcing he was fed up with the whole circus and didn't want to hear any more.

"Like it or not, they'll be here tomorrow on the afternoon train. Does she know where to find you?" Slim asked. "Is there any way to keep us out of it? I don't want her coming here. Overland wouldn't take kindly to the notoriety and we can't afford to lose our contract. What the hell does she think she's doing and why is she doing it?"

"I honestly don't know what she wants, Slim. At first she was demanding, through channels, that I come back and face the music. Whatever it is, it must be damned important for her to go to all this trouble."

"Maybe it's as simple as she misses you and wants you back?"

"Oh please!"

"Would you at least look over this roster of attendants? That might give you a clue..."

"Do I have to?"

"Please?"

 **Missus Ysabel Kahále's traveling companions** included: Counselor Raymondo Alesandro García, Santiago family attorney; the Reverend Paolo Aldo Garda, representative of the Bishop of the Vicariate Apostolic, Honolulu; Señores Efren and Fermin de los Reyes y Santiago, her brothers; Colonel the Honorable Don Virgilio Apolinario Carabeo, relationship unknown; Señor Bautista José Cruz, valet to the aforesaid; Señorita Imelda Angelina Gonzaga, lady's maid; and Señorita Sophia Flordeliza Sorondo, nursemaid. Two more names on the list elicited a gasp of surprise from Kim. His face went white.

"What is it? What's the matter?" Slim asked in concern. "Do you know any of these people... aside from Ysabel?"

"Unfortunately, yes, I do—and the last two are my daughters."

"Why would she bring children halfway around the world?" Slim was dumbfounded.

"I have no earthly idea... especially as Anela is Pélé's daughter, not hers."

A latecomer to the party, also assigned a room on the fourth floor of the hotel, was a heavy hitter—Coadjutor Bishop of the Archdiocese of San Francisco, which oversaw ecclesiastical governance of the Sandwich Islands.

"Okay... now I'm officially worried," Kim admitted.

"Like you weren't before?"

"Not like this. You don't drag a bishop out of his lair, away from his brandy and cigars, for a petty domestic squabble. That's like calling up a cannon to shoot a mouse."

"Interesting analogy, that. I have a message from Sheriff Corey. You wanna hear it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I'll read it to you... 'Your presence is hereby required in the conference room of the Mountain View Hotel, Saturday, 21 January 1871, at high noon. You may be attended by your attorney, your parish priest and a witness of your choice. Respectfully, Ray García, Attorney at Law.' Sounds a little high-handed to me."

"That's my Izzy."

"Lychee and Father Sean have already agreed to be there. As to your witness..."

"I'd ask you... but since you want to keep a low profile, do you think Jess would stand for me?"

"I believe he'd jump at the chance."

"Wait a minute... why did this come through the sheriff's office?"

"Because if you decline... or don't show up... an official complaint will be filed and a summons issued."

"Well, shit."

"You'd save everybody a lot of time and trouble if you'd just go and get it over with."

"Where'd this invitation come from?"

"Apparently in a telegram forwarded to Lychee and a separate one sent to Mort."

 **By noon Friday, Sheriff Mort Corey** was irritated beyond measure. All morning long citizens had been congealing in small flocks along the main thoroughfare before drifting toward the railway offices at the north end of town and regrouping in clusters. There hadn't been this much excitement at the modest station since the prior year when President Grant'd made a five-minute whistlestop to drum up support for his upcoming re-election bid. Foreseeing a need for crowd control in the afternoon, Corey hastily deputized the first six hapless males he could locate that weren't too hung over.

Corey's next move was to collar the mayor and trot him over to Lee Wing's house, where they interrupted the great man at lunch with a plea for further assistance. As owner of the only completely-enclosed carriage in town, would he be willing to loan it and his team of matched blacks to convey—in relative privacy—the lady and her entourage from the station to the hotel? Also his nine-passenger surrey for the overflow? And possibly one of his light-freight wagons for the baggage? Yes, yes and yes... Wing would be delighted to uphold the honor of the city.

With the stationmaster's assistance in determining where the private car would most likely come to a halt, the area was cordoned off and three deputies posted to keep away the hoi polloi. The other three were sent to the hotel to ensure the new arrivals had an unimpeded route through registration up to their rooms. At the Mountain View, Messieur Picard was running his troops ragged in preparation and hassling his chef over the menu for the special meal to be served _en suite_ that evening, rather than in the communal dining room.

 **Saturday dawned and back at the ranch** Slim and Jonesy were critiquing Jess' and Kim's choice of apparel for the forthcoming summit.

"You're not wearing _those_ outfits, are you?" Slim demanded in his mother's voice. "You look like a pair of wranglers just off the range!"

"For the last time," Kim grumbled, "we're not going to the debutante's ball. We're just going to meet with the queen bee and her drones. I have no intention of dressing any differently just to dazzle that pack of jumped-up clowns."

"You want to make a good impression, don't you?"

"Frankly, all the impression I want to make is that they'd best not mess with me... or my sidekick. In fact, the more intimidating Jess comes off, the better I'll like it."

"So you're expectin' trouble?" Jess sounded entirely too pleased with that idea.

Slim sighed. "That's exactly the sort of attitude we've been trying to tone done, Kim. When Jess first got here he scared the crap out of everyone just by walking down the street. Believe me, he's mellowed a whole lot since then."

"Maybe... but I can still do mean an' ornery," Jess chimed in. "Kim, I got a extra gunbelt an' gun you can borrow if you really wanna scare 'em good. We'll be the toughest _hombres_ those yahoos ever seen!"

Kim rolled his eyes. "I appreciate the sentiment and your good intentions, Jess... but I don't have the presence to carry it off. I'd probably accidently shoot someone. No... mainly I need you to watch my back and convince them that _you_ will shoot if anyone gets out of line."

"Which of course he _isn't_ going to do... are you, Jess?" Slim said, beside himself with anxiety.

"Not unless one of 'em gives me cause!"

"Jess... these guys are lawyers and priests... not gunfighters."

"Wellllll... except for Izzy's brothers," Kim contributed. "They're hotheads and liable to do most anything in the name of honor."

"You're not helping!" Slim objected.

"As for Colonel Carabeo... he's the third son in a high-ranking Filipino _principalía_ family..."

"Which means what, exactly?" Slim queried.

"He won't inherit property or go into the clergy. Probably bought his commission, which makes him a gentleman soldier. He might be a problem. I have no idea what his presence means."

"Try not to aggravate him, then... either one of you."

At length Jonesy cleared his throat. "If you boys are done palaverin', it's time to move out." _I'd sure like to be a fly on that wall!_


	38. Chapter 38

_Chapter 38_ _—_ **CURTAIN RISE**

" _ **Worry does not mean fear, but readiness for the confrontation."**_ _(Bashar al-Assad)_

 **Saturday mornings were market days** in almost all frontier towns and Laramie was no exception. Those having items to sell or trade confined most of their activities to Main Street where farmwives and townswomen alike trolled street vendors and retail stores, purchasing their families' needs for the week and on the lookout for bargains. By noon most of them were hightailing it for home in order to start dinner, well before the soiled doves began emerging from their vampyric dens to do their shopping before their evening shifts.

Today, however, was unlike other market days. Thanks to widely repeated rumors and the _Sentinel's_ thinly veiled hints, hardly a soul in the county was unaware that some momentous occasion was about to unfold, having to do with that foreign woman holed up at the Mountain View. Upright female citizens found excuses to linger in town well beyond their usual departure times, at the risk of contamination by the more horizontally-inclined of the lower orders who'd inexplicably advanced their public appearances by some two hours.

The entrances and exits to the hotel were rigorously guarded by stalwarts deputized by the sheriff to allow ingress and egress by officially registered guests only—not an easy task as many more 'guests' than there were actual rooms were clamoring for admittance. To complicate the vetting process, some dozen determined thrill-seekers had paid hotel staff to exchange places and were attempting to masquerade as maids and food service personnel.

Picard was taking out his flaming temper on Sheriff Corey. "How can I be expected to run a dignified establishment with all this foofooraw going on. Do something!"

"Like what, Ari? Arrest all the women on the street? I've made the rounds three times this morning and begged them to go on home but they won't go. They're dying to get a glimpse of this princess or whatever the hell she is."

Picard dropped his ludicrous French accent. "Princess my narrow lily white ass! The woman's a pure and tee bitch... demanding this, that and the other. I can't wait for her to settle her business and check out!"

"You could always demand she leave."

"Are you kidding? What they're paying is more than I take in in six months."

"Put up and shut up, Ari. You have no idea what this is costing the taxpayers in temporary deputies and overtime!"

 **While the two men were trading tales** of woe and exasperation, three of the women who wouldn't go home were merrily exchanging extrapolations down at Abigail's café.

"Go home where?" Carolina Compton sniffed after the sheriff had stalked stiff-legged out of the establishment, having got absolutely nowhere with the crowd within. "I put a note on the door to the effect that the shop was closed today for inventory."

Beatrice Evrard laughed. "I did the same with the library."

"Avery can handle business at the... excuse me." Sally Lowenstein rose abruptly and made a beeline toward the back door to the privy.

"What's up with her?" Beatrice asked.

Carrie had a hunch but merely shrugged. "Don't know."

Beatrice leaned forward, chin on clasped hands. "Does this sort of thing happen often, out here in the provinces?"

"Oh... er... what sort of thing?" _Beatrice... what rock have you been living under?_

"Strange woman comes into town, completely shrouded in mystery, and the locals go berserk. Don't they have lives of their own?"

"It's usually pretty dull and boring for the ordinary decent citizens. Anything unusual is entertainment and they're desperate for distractions."

"Is something supposed to happen... and when? Why do I have a feeling Sally knows more than she's letting on?"

"You'd have to ask her..."

"My uncle personally delivered an order of _filet mignon_ and lamb chops to the hotel this morning. He and the chef are thick as thieves. Uncle Alphonse heard that whatever's going on has to do with Slim Sherman..."

Sally returned just then and carefully sat down, looking greenish about the gills. "Sorry... there's something going around at school and I'm afraid Jacob's brought it home to share with me... what were we talking about?"

"Lamb chops," Carrie lied with a warning glance. "Can't imagine where the butcher got lamb around here. Sheep farmers usually last only a month or less before the cattlemen kill them off."

"Really?" Beatrice's eyes widened. "They kill other peoples' sheep? That's appalling!"

"Sometimes the sheepherders as well... and their dogs," Sally said. Having successfully diverted Beatrice's attention, Sally went on to explain the whys and wherefores of cattlemen versus sheepmen.

Carrie knew exactly what was going on and why... and when. But neither she nor Sally felt they knew Beatrice well enough yet to confide in her.

 **Riding in from the stage road** at the southeast end of town were two scruffy-looking ranch hands. Coated in dust with hat brims pulled low, neither attracted any interest after crossing the main drag and proceeding up a back alley toward the livery stable.

"How do you propose getting us to the hotel and inside without being seen?" Kim asked Jess as the latter changed clothes in the livery's office. Jess had already decided on his costume of choice before leaving the ranch but had thoughtfully hidden it in saddlebags to avoid further agitation on Slim's part.

"Oh... we're gonna be seen. That's the point, ain't it? An' the sheriff's gonna escort us right to the door. Avery's already on his way to get 'im."

The blue chambray work shirt and snug denims had been replaced with a pearl-buttoned black sateen shirt and black twill trousers equally as form-fitting. Jess flapped and beat most of the dust from his sweat-stained black hat and black leather vest. (You could get only so much in saddlebags.) His already black boots required a quick swipe with a damp rag. Last and most imposing: his black gunfighter's rig.

"How do I look?" Jess drew on his black gloves.

"Threatening. Evil. If I ran into you in a dark alley you wouldn't even have to shoot me. I'd have a heart attack on the spot."

"That's the general idea."

"How do _I_ look?"

"Like you been forkin' manure since sunup an' ain't had a bath in a month a Sundays."

"In that case, I'm good to go."

 **The office door creaked open** and Avery clumped in. "Sherf waitin'." Sally's stable manager was a man of few words.

Heads turned as the trio exited the stable and walked toward the hotel three blocks away. Clusters of folks congregated on the boardwalks melted away as the Red Sea before Moses. At the entrance to the Mountain View, Corey nodded to the two deputies and they stepped aside with the dignity of palace guards.

Rushing forward to greet the sheriff, Picard froze in place. His mouth fell open at the sight of Jess but he looked confused at the unprepossessing individual slouched next to him.

"Is this the... uh... that is...?"

"It is," Sheriff Corey said. "Please direct us to the conference room."

"Oh... ah... of course. Gentlemen, if you'd follow me..."

Jess and Kim glanced at each other, fighting to keep grins suppressed.

"Well... this is it, pard." Jess muttered.

"I'm ready," Kim answered.

As they entered the corridor leading to the chamber of doom, a large overalled presence swept in from a side hall. Picard's eyeballs bulged.

"You!" he hissed. "How'd you get in here?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm the cat that walks through walls," Sally replied sweetly. "And I'm going in with them."

There was a few minutes' delay until Picard expended his hissy fit to no avail.

"I wasn't expecting to see you again..." Kim said.

"After I thought about it I realized I was mad at _her_... not you. You didn't think I'd let you face this alone, did you?"

"I've got Jess... but thanks, anyway. You don't have to do this..."

"Oh... but I _do._ By the way, Jess... nice outfit! Black on black with black. Pimping for gunslingers, are we?"

"I... uh..." A snappy comeback was beyond him.

"Never mind. Picard, get your _tuches_ moving!"

Then they were four. Sally generally got her way.

Picard ceremoniously flung open the double doors at the end of the passage and stood to the side to admit the entrants. Sheriff Corey took the proprietor by the elbow and propelled him out of the room, saying to Jess in a voice loud enough to be heard at the far end of the conference table. "I'll be right outside if you need me. Mister Harper, please refrain from shooting up the premises or any of the guests if you can avoid it."

 **At the head of the table,** facing the door, presided a regal entity clad in black bombazine with lace accents—every bit as beautiful as claimed, with a porcelain complexion framed by blue-black curls cascading from an elaborate coiffure. Her haughty expression didn't falter as her gaze swept the unkempt trio facing her. Neither did she speak.

Out of ingrained habit, the two business-attired men seated to Ysabel's right started to rise, unsure if the third arrival was actually a female deserving of that respect. To her left a gray-haired gentleman in a frock coat arose stiffly. Not so the man adjacent to him—a slick-haired mustachioed grandee in a gaudy carmine uniform bedecked with ribbons, gold braid and medallions.

The gray-haired man spoke, looking down his patrician nose with censure. "You were instructed to bring one witness. This other... personage... is not permitted to be here."

Simultaneously, Counselor McNutt stood up from his position near the foot of the long table. "May I remind you, Counselor García... your authority in this country does not extend to dispensing instructions to my client? Mister Harper and Missus Lowenstein are confederates of Mister Kahále and accompany him at his pleasure. I now ask them to be seated."

 **Jess grunted and gave Kim a nudge** forward toward the empty chair at the foot of the table. He and Sally migrated to Kim's left. As Jess took his place, he focused gimlet eyes on each of the other people in turn... just long enough to instill an aura of menace. Kim's and Ysabel's eyes locked and held. If looks could ignite, he'd be a pillar of fire.

The two lawyers were still standing, the older man mildly contemptuous of the younger, half-Asian one. "I have advised my client against direct verbal engagement with Mister Kahále. All negotiations will be handled by myself..."

"Indeed?" Lychee raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I can't say the same for _my_ client... or myself. 'Negotiations' would imply there are items of mutual interest to be discussed and acted upon. However, we are still in the dark regarding the purpose of your presence here today. Perhaps we should first address that issue?"

"It's quite simple, counselor. We are here to effect a dissolution of the marriage between our respective clients."

 **All eyes turned to Kim,** who—ramrod straight with hands loosely clasped on the tabletop—hadn't looked away from Ysabel.

"You want a divorce?"

García interrupted impatiently. "Must I remind you...?"

"You shut up," Kim said pleasantly without looking at the man. "I'm speaking to my wife. Are you here to ask for a divorce?" he repeated.

The lawyer intervened. "Having already obtained a provisional secular divorce on the grounds of abandonment, my client petitioned for and has been granted a provisional declaration of nullity by authority of the Roman Catholic Church."

"An annulment," Kim repeated blankly. "Can you explain how that's even possible?"

"Not I... but Father Paolo Garda will. I understand you are acquainted?"

"We are," Kim said, finally noticing the trio of upholstered chairs situated at a discreet distance from the conference table in a dimly lit corner—containing a slender bespectacled man and, in the center, a more portly gentleman... both in black suits with clerical shirts and Roman collars. The third chair was dwarfed by the unmistakable bulk of Father Sean Flynn in his usual ratty cassock.

"Before we get to that, let us address the divorce decree. After certain events had come to light, in a manner of speaking, Señora Kahále sought to obtain a secular divorce in accordance with the civil codes of the Kingdom of Hawaii. This was encouraged by the Santiago family's legal advisors—including myself—to distance them from association with... well, we needn't go into that here. Suffice to say, a divorce would certainly be the lesser of any other scandal that might attach to the family."

The attorney paused to clear his throat. Pulling a document from a folder in his hands, he handed it over to be passed down the table to Kim. "This is the pending bill of divorcement granting Señora Kahále's petition. Once an equitable division of assets has been arranged and you have both signed off, you will no longer be married according to the Hawaiian state judiciary, and her former name will be formally restored to her. Going forward from this time—and for purpose of clarity—she wishes to be addressed as _'Señorita Santiago'_."

Sally and Jess both studied Kim's face openly and intently for any sign of surprise or distress, but he remained unflinching when Lychee slid the paper against his hand.

 **At García's signal, the Reverend Garda** approached the table but declined to sit. He, too, carried a sheaf of papers. He nodded his head toward Kim. "Kim."

"Paul." It was the sort of not-friendly acknowledgment between two men who'd known each other for a very long time and might once have been friends.

"I'll get right to the point. Not long after you disappeared, Ysabel petitioned the Vicariate Apostolic for annulment of your marriage. Deeming her case had merit in view of the circumstances, Bishop Louis Maigret himself presided over the tribunal that reviewed her petition. The decision was made to grant it. I have here the documents which will release you both from your vows." Father Paul made no move to forward the relevant papers down the table.

Kim had shifted his attention to the cleric. "That's it?"

"Not quite. The annulment will be validated as soon as you and your parish priest have agreed to the terms and affixed your notarized signatures in the presence of two diocesean witnesses. That would be myself and Monsignor Niall O'Shea, Auxiliary Bishop of the Archdiocese of San Francisco, who is present today."

"I see."

"Is that all you have to say?" Ysabel's strident voice cut like a knife through the charged atmosphere. "You murder my father and run away like a dog in the night... leaving me to face the consequences..."

"Ysabel... please!" García patted her shoulder in an attempt to ward off the temper tantrum he knew was about to unfold.

"You unmitigated ass!" the woman yelled, picking up a water glass at hand and hurling it at her nemesis. "Did you really believe that you could throw me aside in favor of your poxy lice-ridden native whore and her bastard whelps? That you could hide forever? You would've been dead by now if not for incompetency of..." She threw her brothers a scathing glance before resuming her vitriolic tirade.

"Madam... I implore you to remain silent!" García knew he was wasting his breath.

"You will sign those papers... and you will do it today if you know what's good for you...!"

Kim in the meantime had leaned back, placing both hands squarely on the table, utterly imperturbed.

"What's the rush, Izzy? It's going to take a while to discuss the property settlement... not to mention custody of the children..."

"Don't call me that! I hate that name!" Ysabel shrieked, verging on hysteria. "I hate you. I hate your children. You can have them. I don't want them..."

" **What?" Kim did a double take** as Ysabel struggled to her feet and the reason for haste was made painfully evident in the bulbous protrusion beneath her bosom. All the other men in the room found objects of interest elsewhere. The man who was yet to be introduced—Colonel Carabeo—inspected his manicure as a red flush blossomed up the neck of his uniform.

Sally and Jess stood up to bracket Kim, who'd also stood and taken a step back, folding his arms.

"That's one thing she can't blame on you," Sally whispered in his ear. Jess wanted to laugh so badly he could hardly stand it but held his threatening countenance.

Lychee held out his hand for the second set of documents and Father Garda obliged.

"Thank you, gentlemen... and lady. My client and I and his attendants will retire to my office to go over these at our leisure. May I suggest we reconvene in the morning at, say, ten o'clock?"

"Yes... yes... of course," García agreed. "I also need to confer privately with my party."

"Wait!" Kim commanded. "Where are my daughters?"

"Upstairs with their _dueña_ and the señorita's maid," García said, "but I don't know that this is a good time to..."

"I want to see them... now. Jess, Sally, Lychee... come with me. Father Sean, you, too, please."

The cries of an angry, frustrated woman followed the quintet out the door and down the corridor. At the foot of the grand staircase, Picard supplied the suite number after looking to the sheriff for permission to do so. Kim turned to his companions.

"On second thought, it's probably better I do this alone. No telling what tales they've been told over the past year. They may not be all that happy to see me..."

Sally reached out to touch him lightly on the cheek. "We're here for you. Remember that." To Picard she said, "We need a place to wait until our friend comes down. As I recall, behind the bar there's a private sitting room that's closed off this time of day. That will do nicely..."

"Surely you don't expect..."

"What the lady said..." Jess growled.

Picard paled. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"We'll need coffee and sandwiches as well," Sally added.

"Right away, madam," Picard squeaked and scuttled away.

"Come find us when you're done," Sally called up to Kim, already halfway up the first flight.


	39. Chapter 39

_Chapter 39_ _ **—**_ **THE UGLY TRUTH**

" _ **One of the hardest lessons in life is letting go. Whether it's guilt, anger, love, loss or**_

 _ **betrayal, change is never easy. We fight to hold on and we fight to let go."**_ _(unattributed)_

 **The support committee barely had time** to get settled in what was, essentially, a gentlemen's lounge before two maids appeared with a tray of china cups and saucers and two silver carafes. The senior of the two, a middle-aged former employee of the Lowenstein family, gave Sally a surreptitious wink.

"Coffee was already a-brewin', Miss Sally. Sandwiches'll take a little while longer. Mavis, get on back to the kitchen and make sure that roast beef's sliced thin like I said." The younger maid backed out with a sulky pout and Aileen tossed her head.

"That one turned up this mornin' outta the blue—said she was fillin' in for Dorothy what took ill. Thinks I don't know she's that idiot newspaper editor's niece! Alla time pickin' my brain 'bout them furrin folks!"

"I expect we'll be reading everything that's fit to print soon enough," Sally sighed.

"And then some," Father Sean added.

"Whatever Mister Harper said to Monsoor Picarse gave the poor old sod a case of the squitters... pardon me, Father!"

"That getup alone is enough to inspire loose bowels," the priest observed dryly. "Jess, you appear to have fallen off the cover of a dime novel! Aileen, my dear... could I trouble you for a pot of tea?"

"T'would be my pleasure, Father. Comin' right up!"

After the door'd closed behind the departing maid, Father Sean rolled his eyes. "Lovely woman, that Aileen... but a right gossipmonger."

Sally agreed. "Sometimes it's useful to have the equivalent of a town crier in your corner. Lychee... I'm sure Jess is just as curious as I am about what prompted that outburst in the conference room..."

"What makes you think I know any more than you do?"

"Perhaps because you and Sean held a covert consultation with the opposition early this morning before the others woke up?"

"And you know this... how?"

"How do you think?"

"Ah... Aileen the Informer... who served us breakfast," Lychee grimaced.

"What's goin' on?" Jess queried suspiciously. "Looked to me like you was itchin' to bust that mouthpiece inta next week."

"It's a role we fulfill, Jess. We shysters are all brothers under the skin... or under the collar, in the case of Brother Flynn there. Before we're called upon to break wind in public we prefer to pool our information so as to begin play on a level field. Do you follow?"

"Not really. If y'all already know what the other side wants, why not get down to brass tacks 'stead a spurrin' at each other like a pair a roosters?"

" **Man's got a point there, cousin,"** Sally laughed. "Why don't you just tell us what you know... in plain English? Kim's already explained why he _couldn't_ get a divorce... and now it appears there's one in the works."

"Bet you a dollar to a bent chopstick the divine Ysabel's been having an affair with his excellency the Colonel. We—García and myself—suspect it's been going on since long before Kim ever got himself in this mess. Sean opines that it's quite possible he could even have fathered one or both of the two younger Kahále children. Obviously the bun currently in the oven isn't Kim's—he's been away too long."

Father Sean took up the thread. "Carabeo is a widower without issue or substantial financial resources. He needs heirs—Ysabel is a proven broodmare. He needs money—Ysabel's family is rich. They claim they're in love and wish to marry... which necessitates removal of the major obstacle in their path. Kim himself gave them the opportunity—commission of murder is both a felony in the secular world and a mortal sin in canon law. Kim's death or imprisonment would have provided the means to that end. Unfortunately for them, his exoneration scotched their plans and their efforts to have him assassinated came to nought."

"So he got away with murder?" Jess asked.

"That he did," Lychee said. "The court declined to convict based on circumstantial evidence... and a not a single witness could be persuaded to admit he was even there that day."

"Better have the paper to prove it," Jess grunted.

"Documentation is in hand and has been widely distributed. He's in the clear," Lychee said. "And as soon as we can agree on property settlement and Kim signs the papers, they'll both be free to remarry... which Ysabel and her colonel intend to do as the ink dries. The bishop will do the honors right here in Laramie. He's not happy about it but he has his orders from Mother Church."

"One presumes their treasury stands to benefit..." This from Sally.

"Princely sums have already been transferred," Father Sean said. "With more to come if it's a done deal before colonel junior makes his debut."

Contemplative silence reigned while this was digested along with sandwiches, coffee and tea brought in and served by the two maids.

" **I simply can't understand that woman!"** claimed Sally after the maids had removed the remains of the impromptu luncheon. "How can a mother just give away her children like that... as if they were mongrel puppies."

"Bitch puppies. Of little value to the future Lady Ysabel compared to the prestige of marrying into royalty... even if Carabeo's the bottommost rung on the ladder."

"What if the baby's another girl?"

"Their hard luck." The lawyer shrugged. "Guess they'll just have to keep trying until they get one with the desired appurtenances."

"Mother Church'll love that!" the priest snorted. "The more souls, the better."

"Fine and dandy unless the parents lack the means to feed and clothe and educate them!"

"That's their problem, not God's... and you didn't hear me say that! I have enough troubles with my superiors as it is." Which was true. The priest's stance on unrestrained reproduction was only one of a score of anti-canonical opinions he shared with the mother superior of the convent that complemented his parish. The two of them were constantly being ratted out by the priests of the other two parishes within Albany County. That they'd so far escaped excommunication was due to a sympathetic bishop who reckoned that even a pair of radical leftwingers was preferable to no representation at all in the predominantly Protestant western territories.

 **Replete with sugary creamed coffee** and shaved prime roast beef on rye slathered in mayonnaise and mustard, Jess was lounging back among the cushions of an overstuffed chaise. In this unguarded state, eyes closed and gunbelt coiled on the seat beside him, concealed by his hat, he appeared to be paying no attention to the ebb and flow of conversation. But in his head, numerous concerns were vying for further examination.

Intricacies of the papist religion were beyond the ken of one whose spotty acquaintance with religious practices in general was limited to a smattering of instruction in the Southern Baptist faith. Marriage and fatherhood were statuses ultimately to be desired in the far-off future. Adapting to the structured existence of an ordinary ranchhand... and incorporation into a more or less peaceful family atmosphere... had been remarkably easier than he'd ever envisioned. This was his 'new normal' and he craved its return. Today's gunslinger persona belonged to the 'old normal'... the violence he'd left behind. A little excitement now and then lent spice to life but the events of the past few months had left him physically and spiritually depleted. It would be a relief to get home tonight and enjoy a quiet supper with folks he understood... and who understood him.

 **Lychee and Father Sean had drifted** into a friendly exchange regarding the relative merits of Oriental mysticism versus conventional Christianity, leaving Sally to linger on the relative merits of Jess Harper's fabulous eyelashes resting against his cheeks. And the abundance of tousled dark wavy hair that'd so recently reposed on Carrie Compton's pillows. Despite the girl's protestations to the contrary, would she be the one to finally drop a loop over this Texas mustang's head and corral his heart? As for herself... the man she loved would soon be free... but free to do what? Would he now elect to return to his homeland and pursue a formal alliance with the mother of his _other_ children? On top of all this, Sally was suppressing her gut's increasing insistence that she seek out a water closet sooner rather than later...

 **Sally was absent from the room** when a knock at the door preceded Kim's entrance with a solemn face and a young girl in braids and pinafore at either side. The three men scrambled to their feet.

"Allow me to introduce my daughters... this is my beautiful Anela, age nine..." Kim indicated the child on his right. "And this is my treasure Caterina, age eight."

The younger, shorter girl made a slight bob. Flashing black eyes and straight, silky black hair parted severely down the middle, along with a flawless milky-white complexion and a certain superior demeanor, marked her as being Ysabel's get. The older one was taller and heavier with her father's coloring and a faint sprinkling of freckles. Tendrils of copper-tinged curly brunette hair were escaping from every twist of her braids and forming a corona around her broad face. Though aesthetically not as pretty as her half-sister, it was easy to see this one would mature into an exotic full-figured beauty in her own right.

Lychee and Father Sean made overtures appropriate to young ladies of a tender age, which did not include kissing of hands. Jess was in a panic. Usually he had no trouble dealing with females... the same dazzling charm that worked miracles on mothers and grandmothers normally brought out the giggles in the younger set. These girls were different somehow. Both were regarding him with frank appraisal and curiosity, waiting for him to introduce himself. At last he resorted to sticking out a paw to each in turn.

"Pleased to meet you, miss. I'm Jess Harper. Your pa didn't warn us what fine fillies he was raisin' on his spread!'

Apparently this was exactly the right approach. Anela accepted the handshake with the gravitas of a refined adult and a surprisingly firm grip. Caterina's handshake was more timid and quickly disengaged.

Kim took over, introducing the portly older woman in black who'd waddled in behind them as the girls' governess, Señorita Sophia. She cast a faintly disapproving eye over the three strange men before allowing herself to be escorted to a comfortable chair at some remove. Kim then claimed the one sofa for himself and the girls.

"Please sit. I have some additional news to dispense and my daughters have input of their own. Don't hesitate to speak freely—the señorita has no English. Where's Sally?"

 **If Lychee and Father Sean had any reservations** about continuing an adult conversation in the presence of children, they were successfully masking them. Jess didn't know what to think so he kept quiet.

"Sally had to visit the... er... convenience," Lychee advised. "She should be back shortly."

"Oh good. That older maid was loitering outside. She said you'd already had your lunch but I asked her to bring us some more coffee. I also asked Sheriff Corey to post one of his deputies outside the door to discourage any further eavesdroping... and to join us if he had the time."

Sally and the sheriff arrived simultaneously. Several minutes were expended in adjusting seating arrangements so that everyone except the governess formed a loose circle. Attorney, padre and gunfighter took advantage of the interval to attend to their own needs down the hall. They had just reassembled when the maids bustled in with the second round of beverages and plates of cookies. Anela and Caterina astonished all but their father by standing up and announcing they would take charge of pouring. The maids were sent away.

"Deportment class," the younger girl announced, as if that explained everything.

At last all were settled with cups and saucers and snacks at hand, except Sally, who declined.

 **Kim took the floor.** "I'm sure Lychee's brought you up to speed while I was upstairs getting reacquainted with my children. However, there've been some other developments which even Mister Wing's network of spies, efficient as they are, haven't uncovered.

"Seven months ago, Pelé Palakiko—my consort and Anela's mother—succumbed to influenza while visiting her own mother's family on the neighboring island of Lānaʻi. She was buried there along with the many others who contracted the illness, so it wasn't carried back to our home island. It was fortunate that she'd left the children at home on this particular visit or I might have lost them as well.

"At about the same time, Ysabel found herself in the family way and experienced a minor nervous breakdown. Her physician advised complete bedrest and relief from all stresses. Our girls were packed off to the other side of the island to be cared for by _my_ mother, who already had charge of Pélé's. Mama decided it would best for all seven if they moved _en famille_ to her home in Honolulu where they could be comfortably housed and enrolled together in a good parochial school. That's where they've been ever since.

"My mother made repeated offers to return the children to Ysabel whenever she felt she was ready... and was rebuffed every time. Ysabel's made it clear she doesn't want them back... ever. The girls are fully aware of this. They accept it and prefer to live with my family anyway."

Father Sean leaned forward to address the dark-eyed girl. "Is this true, my child? Are you sure in your heart that you're prepared to desert your mother?"

The younger sister spoke up in a voice brimming with determination and resentment. " _She_ deserted _us_ , Father. The voyage here was the closest we've been together in years. Even onboard she avoided us as much as she could. How can we love her if she doesn't need us or love us back? And she doesn't... she said so right to our faces!"

"Oh my." The priest was thoroughly nonplussed, wishing he had Reverend Mother Moira Bartholomew at his side. The astute Mother Superior of the Convent of the Sisters of the Divine Illumination would certainly have had much to say about a biological mother rejecting her children and shirking her maternal responsibilities!

"They may look like little girls, padre, but—believe me—they know their minds better than most grown women," Kim sort of apologized with a rueful grin, sensing that everyone else was contemplating the absurdity of children behaving and speaking as miniature adults. "It's that Punahou school—same one I attended… too much emphasis on deportment and academics, not enough allowances for kids acting their ages."

"So I gather," Father Sean responded. "And you, my dear, may I hear your thoughts on the matter?"

Anela responded with total confidence. "My father's wife is a horrid woman and he's well rid of her. I'm sorry my own mother died. I miss her very much. But death is a fact of life in the islands. The Europeans have brought many illnesses that devastate my people. The nuns teach us that once the grieving is done it is our place to celebrate the loved one's ascension into Heaven."

 _What's wrong with this picture?_ Sally was thinking.

 _Yay, nuns!_ Father Sean was thinking. "So you think of yourself as native rather than European?"

"No. I think of myself as _hapahaole_ , just as my father does... and like him I'm proud of both sides of my family."

 **Jess looked from one side** to the other in befuddlement. It had never crossed his mind that half-white, half-something else individuals could hold such definitive, unashamed views on their ethnicity. All his life he'd been under the impression that to be a half-breed of any combination was an abominable, despicable condition. And then he'd met Lindsay McNutt, Attorney at Law, gentleman and scholar. At first he'd been leery of the man's half-Chineseness... but with increasing familiarity that reserve had faded away until, nowadays, he scarcely gave it a thought. Lychee had become part and parcel of Jess Harper's 'new normal'.

Lychee was smiling broadly. "As a member of the half-and-half club myself, I'm in awe of your perspicacity, young lady. You and your sister both. It's an honor to be in the presence of two such very fine minds. I sincerely hope you both consider pursuing careers worthy of them."

"Thank you, sir." Anela then executed a deep curtsy that would have made her deportment teacher burst with pride.

" **Moving on," Kim continued,** "there's just one other problem to overcome aside from the property settlement, which is likely to take a few more days... and Jess... this is where you come in... if you choose to participate, that is. Slim isn't going to like it. Neither are you, Sheriff."

Sheriff Corey spoke for the first time. "I'd appreciate it if you could elaborate. I was hoping this would all blow over and the dust would settle."

Kim sighed. "My brothers-in-law and Colonel Carabeo came along to ensure Ysabel gets her fair share. Translated, that means as much land as they can grab. I intend to fight what I feel is right for me and my children. By that I mean all of it… right down to the last pineapple plant."

"Seems fair enough to me," Corey remarked. "You couldn't ask for a better negotiator than Counselor McNutt, renowned squeezer of blood from turnips."

"And in the bargain having the turnips thanking him for the privilege!" Father Sean interjected gleefully.

"It seems the brothers and the Colonel have another item on their agenda," Kim said. "Maybe I'd better let the girls explain as they're the ones who brought it to my attention. Anela, you go first."


	40. Chapter 40

_Chapter 40 —_ **EVIL INTENT**

" _ **Never judge someone by their relatives."**_ _(Charles Martin)_

 **As Anela stood to speak** in a softly modulated but self-assured voice reminiscent of her father's, Sally couldn't help but wonder what the mother must have been like... compared to the high-strung harridan she'd observed earlier. If it were true that children's attitudes and personalities were shaped by the parents', then it was probably fortuitous that Ysabel's brood'd had such limited exposure to her. And if Anela's full sisters were anything like her, then absorption into that household could only be beneficial. Although Sally was listening intently—really, she was!—her subconscious mind was straying into the realm of _'what if's'_...

"On the boat, we overheard things we weren't supposed to. Noelani says... oh, by the way, Papa... we forgot to tell you, Caterina doesn't want to be called _'Caterina'_ anymore. She wants to go by her native name, _'Noelani'_ , if that's all right with you."

"Perfectly fine," Kim answered. "Noelani it is... please continue... although I suppose I should remind you it isn't polite to eavesdrop on grownup's conversations."

"We weren't, Papa—we were right there. They must've thought we were too young to understand. Anyway they'd been drinking and were very loud... everyone heard them."

"They _who_ , Miss Anela?" Lychee asked gently.

"Noelani's uncles and that man who wants to marry her mama. They're plotting to kill my father... that's what I'm trying to tell you!"

All five men jerked to attention.

"Well, dammit all to hell!" Corey swore. "Pardon me, ladies... I thought all this foolishness was over with!"

"People've been trying to do that for months," Kim grinned in a futile attempt to make light of the threat. "They haven't succeeded yet."

"We know about all that, too, Papa," the girl retorted. "Grandmother told us about the bounties and such."

"I'll just bet she did!" Kim rolled his eyes, adding for the benefit of the others, "She probably bullied my father and his family into putting up the counteroffers. Sorry, Anela... go on. How're they planning to accomplish my demise?"

"Duels. They intend to challenge you in public."

 **Jess broke the astonished interval** with "Ain't that against the law these days?"

Lychee supplied the answer. "Yes and no. There's no federal law governing the practice although it's been outlawed in eighteen states. Not here in the territories, however. You people still do it, when one man 'calls out' another."

"That ain't the same thing," Jess objected.

"I fail to grasp the distinction," Lychee countered. "How many men have you called out just since you've been here, Jess... or have called you out? And how did you respond?"

"I... uh... that is... I never thought of it that way."

"Well, I'll just be fu... excuse me!" Sheriff Corey turned red. "There'll be no dueling or calling out or whatever you want to call it on my streets and that's final!"

"Are you a real gunfighter, Mister Harper?" Anela's question halted the heated exchange.

It was Jess' turn to blush in embarrassment. "You bet... I mean, no... that is... I useta be but I ain't no more. I'm a respectable citizen these days."

"That's too bad. I was hoping you would take up for my father and protect him. Couldn't you just, like, _shoot_ them first… maybe just a little?"

Sally was afraid she'd have to leave the room again. Belly laughs and nausea weren't compatible.

Noelani indicated she had something to say.

"Uncle Efren and Uncle Fermin are dumb. They think they're smarter and better than everyone else. They think if they can kill our papa before he signs anything, then Mama'll be a widow and can marry that other man anyway and they can get all the land and the money and won't have to share with Anela's family. Except that means my sisters and I won't get any money either since we're part of her family now..."

The girl ran out of wind and sat back down as Kim stood up. "Gentlemen... you see now what we're up against. Anela, Noelani... thank you for sharing this. It's been most helpful. Would you wake up Señorita Sophia and help her back upstairs to your suite? I'll be up later and let you know what we decide."

After collecting hugs and kisses from their father, the girls retreated with their sleepy nursemaid in tow, leaving the others to discuss options.

" **This won't do. Won't do at all!"** Counselor McNutt rarely expressed anger but he was well and truly pissed off at this point. "In all fairness I doubt my counterpart has any knowledge of this. By all reports—and Lee Wing had him thoroughly vetted—García is an honorable man. He might well recuse himself from the case rather than be a party to it."

"So we shouldn't call him in to the war council?" Father Sean asked.

"No. Best let him believe, for now, that everything's going forward by the book. As for the bishop and the other priest... what're your thoughts, Sean? Would this intelligence have an impact on the impending nullification?"

"Quite the opposite, I should think. Proven intent to commit a mortal sin would eradicate any lingering opposition if there were any. At any rate, I doubt they can exert any influence on the Santiago brothers... so, best let sleeping prelates lie."

"Sheriff Corey?"

"Not much I can do, Lychee. Can't arrest them on suspicion of intent... especially not on the word of two children. Not unless they actually do something."

"I can sure do somethin'," Jess growled, standing up and buckling on his gunbelt.

Corey jumped up and got in his face. "Hold your horses, Jess. Just 'cause that child made a good suggestion doesn't mean you can act on it."

"Nah... but I can scare 'em a little."

Kim intervened. "Jess... let me explain something. Those three men—silly as they may seem to you, being gentlemen soldiers and not the real deal—are actually extremely competent with firearms and other weapons. They spend all their leisure time gambling, fencing, hunting, target shooting and... yes... dueling. It's still a popular pastime in the Philippines. They won't be that easily put off."

"It ain't right we have wait for 'em to make the first move."

"It's not," the sheriff agreed, "but it's the law. My suggestion would be to run interference between them and Kim... prevent any personal contact outside the conference room. Make sure you stay between him and them when you're _in_ the room."

"What if they decide to just shoot 'im in the back?" Jess argued.

"They won't do that," Kim said. "They do have _some_ principles. Not many, but some."

 **Sally spoke up.** "Now that we see this is going to take an indefinite number of days to resolve, we need to stash Kim somewhere they won't think to look. He can't stay here in the hotel, obviously."

"Not at the ranch, either," Lychee agreed. "They already know that's where he lives."

"I'm thinking of my house..."

"No good. They'll already have made note there's a connection between you and Kim. They'll be asking around about you and you're not exactly hard to find."

"Good point," Sally concurred glumly.

"What about Jess?" Corey brought up. "We need him here in town, not twelve miles away..."

Jess made a face. "Can't leave Slim in the lurch... he wasn't countin' on me bein' gone that long."

"I'll get Orrie Jackson to cover for you. He knows the ropes."

"In that case... no problem. I'm pretty sure I got a place to hang my hat." Carrie would be welcoming. At least, Jess hoped—rather than assumed—she would be.

"Kim... how does that sit with you?" Corey asked.

"Whatever you decide's best... except... I don't feel comfortable leaving the girls here."

"Which brings up an interesting question..." Sally frowned. "Why were they brought along in the first place? To what purpose?"

"Already asked and answered, cousin," Lychee said. "When I put it to García this morning, he replied that he was asked to make the request directly to Mrs. Kahále on the Santiago's behalf. The idea was that Kim would be more likely to cooperate if the girls appealed to him in person."

Kim was shaking his head. "I doubt my mother would take that at face value. She's not that gullible."

"Be that as it may, he managed to convince her to let them go, on his word of honor they would come to no harm. And they begged her to be allowed to go. They gave her no peace until she gave in. His words..."

"You don't know the Santiagos as I do," Kim said. "They're ruthless. They won't hesitate to hold my kids hostage until I cave in to their demands. I want the girls out of here now."

"Surely they wouldn't... _do_ anything to them?" Sally was appalled.

"Remember what happened to their father... and why," Kim reminded her. "Efren and Fermin are chips off the old block..."

Sally gasped. "They _wouldn't!_ Not their own niece...!"

"They can't be trusted... and Ysabel would turn a blind eye. She's already demonstrated how little she cares for their welfare."

" **If I may offer a suggestion..."** Lychee spoke. "Security at Lee Wing's compound is tighter than at that new federal mint in Carson City. Kim and the children would be safest there. Wing will provide an armed guard to escort Kim to and from the hotel. Elsewhere, Jess can take over as bodyguard."

"Would Mister Wing go along with that?" Kim asked.

"It's already arranged. For the honor of the House of Chen, he is delighted to be of assistance. As I recall you have some minor affiliation with that clan. Are we all in accordance with this proposal?"

Heads bobbed up and down... the sheriff's in relief that the strain on his deputization budget would be alleviated.

Lychee continued. "Jess, you're welcome as well. Mister Wing has been looking forward to meeting you for the longest time... not to mention the females of his household."

"I reckon it'll do." Visions of nights spent in Carrie's arms vanished in a poof of resignation.

"Splendid. Now then, allow me to illustrate how we shall go about smuggling the young ladies out of the hotel..."

 **Elegantly choreographed by Lychee** , relocating Anela, Noelani and Kim proved as simple as walking out the back door of the Mountain View Hotel... right under the sleeping noses of their watchdogs. Even though daytime highs hovered in the mid-thirties, the Santiago party continued to observe the age-old tradition of those accustomed to tropical climes: the afternoon siesta.

Twin temporary and unauthorized maids—Kathy (Kuai Hua) and Lisa (Lien Hua) Wing had thoughtfully carried up calmative pre-nap beverages to the two older women sharing the girls' suite... Twining's fragrant calamansi tea laced with laudanum. The elderly señoritas snored in unison.

Among the parade of vendors offloading deliveries at the service entrance was a mule-drawn cart with 'Wing Celestial Laundry" emblazoned on the side panels. Two employees—attired in baggy pantaloons with voluminous overcoats and woolen scarves muffling their heads and faces under conical straw hats—carried in the day's clean linens. Up the stairs they went as each floor had its own supply closet... and down the stairs they came with sacks of soiled linens. Several of the other vendors happened to be associated with Wing enterprises—Wing Superior Dairy, Wing Excellent Produce, Wing Superlative Meats, Wing Finest Kind Tobacconist. The hotel was swarming with coolies toting boxes, bags and parcels to and fro. No one took the slightest notice of three extras slipping out amongst them.

The Santiago brothers emerged from the hotel in late afternoon to embark on a reconnaissance mission disguised as a sight-seeing stroll about town. The roguishly handsome pair cut quite a swathe, dispensing Latin charm like fairy dust along the way and in return getting answers to most of their questions. By the time they'd come full circle they'd verified the current locations of the Chinese lawyer (in his office), the shabby priest (in his rectory) and that great sweaty cow of a woman blacksmith (in her forge).

Where the men came up _bupkis_ was pinpointing the whereabouts of their brother-in-law. His minder, the gunslick, had last been seen entering a watering hole down the street. It cost them two dollars to gain admittance—only to find he was no longer there and no one recalled seeing him leave. According to the elderly driver of the four o'clock stage, which had just pulled up, the ranch house wherein they dwelled was twelve miles to the east... just follow the stage road.

"Only they ain't there," Mose supplied helpfully. "I woulda seed 'em on the road an' they wasn't home."

In any case, it was too late in the day for a jaunt out there just to confirm that the old man wasn't fibbing. Returning to the livery stable with a view toward reserving two mounts for the following day, they chanced upon a small grubby boy playing in the dirt outside. A nickel bribe produced the information that Mister Harper's horse... and that other feller's... were still on the premises. So where were their riders?

Another round of inquiries as to where Jess Harper might be found yielded speculation from barbershop to bar to bordello. No solid leads. The mention of Kim's name brought only blank stares. No one'd ever heard of him.

In utter frustration, Efren and Fermin Santiago trudged back to the Mountain View only to find the establishment in pandemonium... the girls—their aces in the hole—had vanished.


	41. Chapter 41

_Chapter 41 —_ **THRUST AND PARRY**

" _ **It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog."**_ _(Mark Twain)_

 **After the planning commission** had dispersed, Jess'd made sure he was seen heading towards Sam's Gentlemen's Club, where he had a few solitary drinks and contemplated how clothing really could alter impressions. Men who normally wouldn't have hesitated to bend elbows with him at the bar kept their distance. Even Jerry the usually jovial barkeep served him with nervous dispatch and backed away. None of the hostesses approached him.

On the pretense of visiting the facility out back, Jess hurried unseen along the alleyways toward Sally's stables, where he planned to change back into his original clothing. The saddlebags were gone and so was Sally. Closing down the business, Avery informed him that one of Lee Wing's servants had collected them and they'd be waiting for him at Wing's place. He was to come along after dark. In the meantime he was welcome to catch a nap in the office. Avery would come around later and lock up.

 **Darkness fell early in January.** Five-thirty found Jess tapping for admittance at the western gate to the compound. A housemaid led him through a labyrinth of corridors to the bathhouse, where he found Kim, Lychee, Father Sean and Lee Wing himself already immersed up to their necks in what appeared to be a glazed-tile stock tank sunk into the floor.

Before Jess could say 'jackrabbit', two female attendants stripped him right down to his birthday suit—gunbelt and all—and set upon him with soap and sponges. Too shocked to resist, he just stood there until they finished by upending two buckets of ice water on his head. One of the girls took him gently by the elbow and guided him to the steps leading down into the steaming water.

As introductions go, this was decidedly the most unusual one Jess'd ever experienced... one naked man shaking hands with another. The alleged crime boss seemed genuinely pleased to make his acquaintance. Oddly enough, he soon was able to overlook the circumstances, the surroundings and the presence of women... What was it Slim had said to him a while back? Something about when you're in Rome...?

Time passed. Maids appeared sporadically to add buckets of foaming bath salts and scalding water to the bath. Jess fully expected the next ingredient to be lobsters. At last a procession of maids marched in bearing towels and robes. Jess panicked. Were the men to be dried and robed by women as well? But no... the girls took their impassive faces away and the men clambered out of the pool. Kim beckoned to him to follow.

"We're roomies in the bachelor's quarters. Hope you don't mind…"

' **Quarters' turned out to be** a spacious, sparingly but elegantly appointed room with two extra-thick sleeping pallets and a plate glass window overlooking a tiny enclosed garden lit by stone lanterns. Jess' clothes were nowhere in sight but there was a neat stack of... something... on each pallet. On Jess', a pair of soft, loose-fitting black cotton trousers suspiciously resembling ladies' pantaloons, but longer. A long-sleeved padded black satin tunic with a mandarin collar and frog fasteners down the front. Black kidskin slippers. No underwear.

"I can't wear these!" Jess objected.

"Why not?" Kim's tunic was olive green. "The maids assumed black was your preferred color..."

"It's not that... it's... it's..."

"Try 'em on, at least. Trust me. You won't look out of place. This is house casual... extremely comfortable. No one will see you outside these walls."

"Where're my boots... and my real clothes?"

"Being cleaned and pressed, I imagine. Hurry up. We don't want to be late for dinner."

 _If Slim hears about this I'll never live it down!_

Then he noticed that his rig was also missing.

"Relax! I'm sure they just put it away because it was disturbing the harmony of the room. Try that cedar chest at the foot of the bed."

Sure enough... that's where it was, black leather burnished to a gleaming sheen and the weapon itself oiled and rubbed to perfection before being carefully wrapped in silk sheeting. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found. Even the bullets had been polished. The ones in the loops twinkled in the lamp light like ornaments on a Christmas tree.

 **Jess was happily surprised** at the fashionably late repast that evening. He had a nodding acquaintance with Oriental cuisine, thanks to Lychee's ma's abbreviated term of service at the Sherman ranch, and had found it palatable. Just wasn't his favorite, was all. His apprehension at the thought of attempting to manage chopsticks was unfounded. The table was set in a relatively uncomplicated manner such as one would find in the average middle-class American home, with appropriate utensil for the non-chopstick-abled.. The meal itself was an artful blend of American and Oriental dishes, so that non-Asian guests could pick and choose identifiable items without offense to the host. Jess ate until he couldn't.

Afterwards Lee Wing led the way to his study for brandy and cigars and an outline of tomorrow's security detail. In the surreal atmosphere, Jess kept nodding off. At some point he rose to consciousness to dimly perceive that the priest and the attorney had left the group. Wing was inquiring of Kim if he and Jess would appreciate some companionship for the night. Kim politely declined.

The next Jess knew, early morning sunlight was filtering into the miniature garden. His and Kim's _real_ clothes were neatly folded on either side of a floral arrangement on a low lacquered table. Two pairs of boots underneath were shiny enough to serve as shaving mirrors. Jess' hat, spot cleaned and brushed, lay on another table. Kim was curled up under a quilt on the adjacent pallet. It hadn't been a dream after all.

 **People on their way to church** stopped and gawped at the improbable vision of five men, clad in black from head to toe, marching down Main Street toward the Mountain View Hotel with Jess Harper holding center position. Lee Wing's cadre of private militia were rarely seen in public and then only in pairs and usually skulking in shadows. Only Jess wore a pistol in plain sight. The others were festooned with a variety of swords and knives, which didn't preclude the possibility—or likelihood—of concealed projectile weapons.

With the prospect of a circus in the offing, Christian ethics were hard put to attend to the business at hand—that of Sunday morning worship. Head coverings obscuring the soldiers' faces from the eyes down made it impossible to note that one was slightly different from the other three.

Sheriff Corey and two deputies met them at the door. Jess stepped forward and the four soldiers formed a solid semicircle behind him.

"There's you but where's... uh...?"

Jess cut his eyes sharply to the right. Corey understood that what he was meant to see was the pair of amber eyes among the jet black ones.

"Oh... well... you'd better come in. All of you."

The lobby was deserted except for Lychee.

"Where's everybody?" Jess asked.

"Told Picard and his staff to keep away until we called for 'em. Your party's in the conference room. Got two deputies keepin' 'em corralled. Let me tell you, those three comic opera clowns've been howlin' like coyotes about those missing girls since last night. They've threatened me with everyone from the Pope to the President..."

Jess grinned. "So whadja tell 'em?"

"The truth... those children are in protective custody and there's not a dadblamed thing they can do about it."

"Is that true?" Jess turned to Lychee for verification. In the corner Kim was struggling out of the fake militia uniform he'd worn over his own clothes, which were the same as yesterday's only considerably cleaner and neater.

"Absolutely. Before Kim's mother let García take Anela and Noelani she obtained a formal agreement permanently relinquishing custody of Ysabel's three children to her until such time as their father returns... signed and sealed before a magistrate. I have notarized copies. The United States government honors the legality of this instrument. I checked into that, too. Ray García has limited guardianship of Anela for the duration of the trip to America and back unless and until her father is able to resume custodianship... which he's now done. The Santiagos can squall 'til they're blue in the face."

 **Corey chuckled.** "Gentlemen, you can go in now. Take Mister Wing's enforcers in with you and let me have my deputies back. I'm pretty sure I'm going to need them after church lets out."

"Why?" Jess asked.

"Those brothers made a big stink yesterday about innocent young girls being kidnapped by outlaws and hooligans... including the newly-resurrected desperado Jess Harper.

"Shit!" Jess exclaimed. "Not again."

"Yep. The citizenry've got themselves worked up all over again and are calling for blood... specifically, yours."

"Slim's gonna kill me."

"Only if he gets to you before they do. I'm not kidding, Jess. They're in a lynching mood. We'll have to sneak you out the same way we did the girls."

"Didn't you explain to 'em what's really goin' on?"

"I tried... but they don't want to hear it. All they see is a lady in distress whose children have been cruelly ripped from her bosom and are being held for ransom."

Kim wasn't the only one looking distressed. "Jess, I'm truly sorry about this. I had no idea this would backfire on us..."

"Not your fault," Jess shrugged. "Anyways, we got other fish to fry right now. We'll worry about the mob later."

Turning to the three real militiamen, he told them what he wanted from them, then—giving the door knob a vicious twist—he went in first.

 **The seating arrangements** were the same as before except that Jess and one soldier remained standing to Kim's left, the closest interception point between him and the Santiagos. The other two were positioned to block any offensive movement from Colonel Carabeo, who squirmed uneasily in his chair as if suffering from some hemorrhoidal affliction.

Fermin Santiago stood up abruptly, rapping beringed knuckles on the tabletop. "I must protest! Weapons at a negotiation table! Really... is this necessary?"

"Fermin... please restrain yourself. This is not a court of law. If Mister Kahále is more comfortable with an armed guard, then so be it. Let's get through this as swiftly as possible, shall we?" García took his time adjusting his spectacles and shuffling the papers that lay before him. "First order of business is equitable division of assets. Let us begin with the cane plantation on Maui..."

"Let's not." Kim's emphatic rejection startled everyone.

"Excuse me?" García looked over the tops of his glasses. "Are you suggesting...?"

"Not negotiable. It's mine. All one thousand acres. I own it. Her family didn't put a penny into it and they're not getting one out of it, either."

"Er... I see. Now, about the coffee plantation..."

"No."

"But Mister Kahále... surely..."

"My stepfather deeded those five hundred acres over to me as a gift on my twenty-first birthday. Nothing to do with Ysabel."

"And the cattle ranch on Oahu, which is your most substantial asset at two thousand..."

"Wrong. That belongs to my biological father until I produce a male heir and obviously I haven't got one. That I know of..."

The Santiagos could have been carved from granite, so still were they keeping. Their faces, however, betrayed a burgeoning anger. Efren was clenching his jaw so tightly that the grinding of his teeth was audible at the far end of the table.

 **García gamely forged on.** "Pineapples..." he began faintly.

"On the big island. Yes. I remember. And no, she's not getting that, either. Besides, it's just a piddling little two hundred acre investment. The income from that wouldn't support my wife's shoe addiction."

"Mister Kahále... are you insinuating that you are not agreeable to any division of property whatsoever? There are quite a few other parcels on this list…"

"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm saying outright. There will be no sharing. Period. Izzy's family's richer than King Midas. They can afford to support her marriage to a moneyless third son because, hey... she's bringing a title to the family tree. They should be paying me for the privilege of letting him have her."

The colonel was so agitated his medals were clinking.

"They don't need my land or my money." Kim was on a roll. "Izzy can have the Lahaina house and the townhouse in Honolulu. I won't be needing them once I've removed my personal effects. She neither needs nor deserves additional compensation."

"It's the principle of the matter! After ten years of marriage..."

"Take it or leave it."

García's hands were trembling and beads of perspiration were popping out on his forehead. "You are forcing us to take further action..."

"Be my guest. Counselor McNutt... would you care to deliver the counteroffer?"

Jess didn't know what was coming but he was sure it was something nasty. Looking down at the top of Kim's head, he wondered—not for the first time—how so much spunk could be packed into such a small frame. Then again, though Jess himself had always accepted he wasn't a particularly large or muscular individual—compared to, say, Slim—he'd always reckoned he possessed enough fighting spirit to make up the difference.

At the same time a revelation was coalescing in Jess' mind... the obvious explanation for the inflow of cash and largesse over the past months from an 'anonymous benefactor'. _It'd been Kim all along_... stealthily bypassing Slim Sherman's steadfast refusal to accept financial reimbursement for his upkeep. Sneaky little devil. Furthermore, Kim's accomplices had to've been the attorney and the priest—the only two outsiders who'd maintained regular contact with him almost from the beginning.

Plastering into place his well-practiced enigmatic expression, Lychee stood up to speak. "Should you elect to pursue any claims in court, rest assured that Chen & Camerata will sever all ties with Reyes & Santiago Trading. You will lose all access to their shipping routes and no associated grower will sell to you. Details of Fermin Senior's excesses will be disseminated to all the major newpaper syndicates. The ensuing scandal will besmirch your family's name and quite possibly result in a significant loss of confidence on the part of your investors. Your sister will be publicly exposed as an adulteress. Are you prepared to face these consequences?"

 **While radiating flames of fury** down the polished surface of the table, Ysabel had managed to maintain an icy composure... until now. Leaping up and squalling like a fishmonger's wife, her face contorted in hysteria, she swept away all items within her immediate reach.

" _Bastardo! Engendros del diablo! Hijo de un puta!"_

Heavy glass tumblers went crashing to the floor. A pitcher of water shattered over Counselor García's papers, drenching the front of his bespoke Savile Row suit. An El Príncipe de Gales cigar—tip glowing as it rolled from where it reposed majestically on a crystal ashtray—landed directly onto Fermin Junior's lap. In a frantic effort to rescue his most treasured jewels, he shoved back from the table with such force that his chair tipped over backwards. Efren went down as well, having automatically reached out to steady his brother.

Jess' gun was drawn, sweeping the room like a divining rod in search of a target. Ration dictated that it was unethical to indiscriminately open fire on purportedly unarmed people in a confined space, while instinct and experience were insisting that he who hesitates frequently is unhappily surprised… and he was right.

Bellowing in rage, Colonel Carabeo took leave of caution. Producing a derringer from somewhere about his person he aimed point blank at Kim and fired, hitting one of Wing's warriors instead. Jess winged him in the right arm, choosing to disable rather than kill. The little gun clattered to the table and bounced within Ysabel's reach. Simultaneously, the wounded warrior's compatriot loosed a double-edged throwing knife which would most certainly have dispatched the gentleman on the spot had it not been deflected by a oversize faux badge depending from an ostentatious gold chain draped across the colonel's weskit. Missing its mark, the blade penetrated the meaty portion of the colonel's upper left arm as he toppled to the floor.

Counselor García promptly vacated his adjacent chair, seeking safe haven underneath the table.

Counselor Lychee froze in place, his mouth hanging open as knives and bullets whizzed by his head. Never in his life had he been shot at or even close to...

Screaming obscenities, Ysabel snatched up the derringer and fired at Jess. Unlike her husband, Ysabel was a consummate marksman. The only reason the bullet grazed his side rather finding his heart was that he'd twisted sideways to yank Kim to the floor… and although painful, there wasn't enough force behind the shot to knock him off his feet. Kim scrambled right back up again.

On the other side of the table, the Santiago brothers were down but not out. Fear and anger (and in Fermin's case, a burning pain in his smoldering crotch) caused them to draw out the small handguns they'd concealed in shoulder holsters. Jess was chastising himself for having missed the telltale bulges in their suit coats, even as he drilled Fermin in the head. Efren caught a knife through his throat, thanks to warrior number one's lightning reflexes.

The sight of her immutably deceased siblings inspired Ysabel to even greater heights of self-expression. Seizing a china platter heaped with an assortment of pastries, she commenced hurling the sticky missiles at the as-yet uninjured object of her displeasure at the far end of the table, as well as his guard dog. She had a good throwing arm, too.

Clutching his side and dodging pastries, Jess debated the merits of simply shooting the bitch. Just couldn't bring himself to do it… not a _woman_ … and a pregnant one at that.

In the corner, Bishop O'Shea and Reverend Garda—bug-eyed and glued to their chairs—were repeatedly making the Signs of the Cross. Finally, Father Sean'd had enough. Heaving himself to his feet, he marched up behind the woman and—grabbing a handful of dress at the scruff of her neck—lifted her upward and held her off the floor, prudently out of kicking and clawing range.

"That'll be quite enough, missy."

Ysabel fainted—or pretended to. Not taking any chances, Father Sean continued dangling her like a chicken carcass in the market.

"Lychee... LYCHEE..." The priest had to raise his voice over the pounding on the door and the babble of excited voices in the corridor on the other side of it.

"Huh? Whuh?"

"Snap out of it, man! Kindly unlock the door. We need the sheriff, the doctor and the undertaker here soonest... not necessarily in that order."


	42. Chapter 42

_Chapter 42 —_ **MOB MENTALITY**

" _ **One person is never as stupid as a group of people. That's why they have lynch mobs, not lynch individuals."**_ _(Ben Horowitz)_

 **Sheriff Corey was grateful** that the 'incident' was over long before the town's houses of worship discharged their faithful, who would undoubtedly be stampeding over to the hotel in hopes of catching the show... whatever it was. A modest throng of unchurched rabblerousers had started congregating around the foot of the hotel steps as soon as news of Jess Harper's arrival began circulating. Corey was counting on the natural order of sinful appetites to prevail as soon as the saloons opened for business at the stroke of noon. In the meantime, clusters of rough-looking men evidently suffering from Saturday night hangovers halfheartedly continued to taunt and threaten the deputies guarding the front door of the hotel.

Corey was over at Gibbon's General Merchandise when muffled gunshots rang out. Running outside he nearly collided with Slim, tying up to the store's rail as there wasn't any space at the hotel's. Slim canted his head toward the crowd.

"What the hell's going on over there?"

"Dunno… gunshots…" They both sprinted across the street.

"It was under control earlier," the sheriff claimed between puffs. "Don't know what happened..."

Pushing through the crowd and tearing into the lobby, they legged it down the corridor only to find the door locked. From the sounds of it, a massacre was in progress.

"I thought this was just a simple meeting, not another free-for-all." Slim hammered the door with his fists. "Oh yeah... stupid me! When's anything _ever_ simple when Jess is involved!"

Sally appeared out of nowhere.

"You were supposed to be here at ten like we agreed!" Corey shouted. "Where've you been?"

"Shit happens, Mort... and none of it _your_ beeswax. Can't you just kick it in?"

 **The three spilled** through as the door opened unexpectedly. A swift visual inspection revealed Kim and Jess, though both still on their feet, sporting an assortment of crimson blotches. The blood seeping from Jess' side hadn't yet soaked through the black leather vest and he wasn't letting on he'd been hit. Sure, it hurt… but not that bad. He figured on attending to it later—privately, when he could slip away. In the meantime, at the horrified expressions on the incomers' faces, he and Kim examined each other and started chortling. Kim dabbled an index finger in the glob of red on Jess' chest, then stuck it in his mouth.

"Ummmmm… strawberry!"

Jess did the same with the smears of red at Kim's shirt. "Nah… raspberry…"

Only then noticing the smashed pastries littering the floor and tabletop, Corey expelled a great sigh of relief, although he wasn't especially happy at the sight of _bodies_ littering the floor... two motionless and two, injured but alert, propped against the wall. A piteous moaning was coming from under the table.

"Dammit Jess," Slim yelled. "Did you have to...?"

"Hey! I didn't start it!"

"Wasn't his fault," Kim said simultaneously, calling their attention to the crumpled figure twitching and jerking at the end of Father Sean's outstretched arm. "She did it."

Doctor Whatleigh was the next to enter, shaking his head lugubriously. "So much for a restful Sunday afternoon."

After proclaiming the Santiago brothers officially deceased and determining the three wounded were not in immediate danger, Young Doc administered a sedative to the lady and directed she be removed upstairs and placed under lock and key.

"Sheriff, would you arrange to have Wing's two young men and this other person transported to my clinic? I'll be there shortly."

Once that was accomplished, Corey called for Picard to have a couple of maids sent in to clear up the mess, and to furnish enough stationery and writing instruments for all who remained. "I'll be needing a statement from each of you so we might as well get that over with. Keep it brief. One page."

An hour later, the sheriff collected the documents and called upon both attorneys to stand up. "Mister García, is there any point in dragging out these proceedings further? Or are you far enough along that a few signatures can conclude your business? My alternative is to arrest the lot of you and slap you all in jail without bond..."

"On what grounds?" García ventured timidly.

"Well now... let's see… there's disturbing the peace, inciting a riot, destruction of private property, intent to commit bodily harm, intent to abduct minor children, attempted murder, assault with a deadly... er... danish. With yourself as co-conspirator. I'm sure I can come up with a few others..."

García swallowed, his face a sickly pale. "If you could grant us another hour or so, sir, I believe Counselor McNutt and I can amend the agreements to meet with Mister Kahále's approval. We already have Madam Kahále's… er… Señora Santiago's signatures on the necessary finalizations."

Corey turned to Kim. "How about it?"

"I have no problem with that. But if I don't like what I see..."

"Oh... you will, Kim," Lychee drawled with a grin. "I can practically guarantee it."

 **Sheriff Corey, Slim, Jess, Sally and Father Sean** elected to wait in the hotel bar. Outside, a growing crowd was exhibiting mounting impatience. Inside, the proprietor hovered in agitation—what if they took a notion to start flinging rocks at the expensive stained glass windows fronting the street?

The men nursed whiskies while discussing how to turn back the tide of hostility threatening to engulf them as soon as they came out from behind their protective detail. Sally sipped sweetened iced tea in uncharacteristic silence, having declined any alcohol. The barkeep'd had to summon someone from the kitchen to fulfill her request as tea wasn't a commodity he normally kept on hand.

"I don't understand," Slim said. "Why're they after Jess? I even heard my name when we were coming in…"

"Those two dead men… they went around last night spreading the news that you've been aiding and abetting a murderer… with Jess' assistance."

"But… they know me. They know Jess. Why would they listen to strangers?"

"Dammit, Slim… you should know by now how quick these people are to believe the worse and go on the prod."

Slim shook his head, still unwilling to accept that folks he counted as friends would turn on him—and Jess—so easily.

"I wasn't here then—and I'm sorry to bring it up—but I recall you telling me once that it was mob mentality just like this that led to your father's death."

"I've tried to put it out of my mind, but yeah… it was, indirectly."

"Trouble is," Corey was saying, "I can't arrest anyone for making threats... but if this _does_ turn into a lynch mob... well, you know how quickly _that_ can go sideways..."

"What, exactly, is it that they believe Jess has done?" the priest inquired.

"That he's responsible for kidnapping two children on behalf of their criminal father, who's extorting money from their helpless mother." Corey rubbed his face tiredly. "The only advantage we've got is that very few people have even seen Kim or know of his connection to Jess. And, at the moment, they don't know the Santiagos are dead. If I release their bodies to the undertaker, they'll assume Jess killed them both. That's why they're hidden in a supply closet... for now."

"I only got one of 'em," Jess clarified. "Wing's man got the other one. Speakin' a which, where'd he get off to?"

"I dispatched him on an errand," Father Sean replied blandly. "He'll be back."

"With reinforcements, we hope," Slim growled. "They're getting louder out there..."

"He couldn't have got out the front door... they would've stopped him," Corey mused. "Probably have men at the back entrance, too."

"Ah So doesn't need doors to get to where he needs to go," said the priest with a complacent grin.

"Howzat?"

"Rooftop to rooftop. Lee claims they can fly like bats. I'm inclined to believe him."

"Did you see who drew first, Sean?" Corey asked.

"Unfortunately, no... the table was between us."

Jess rolled his eyes. "You ain't helpin' me none, padre."

"That colonel fired the first shot... at Kim," Father Sean added. "If that helps."

The roar of the crowd was swelling. The occupants of the bar debated retreating to an upper floor, where Picard had already herded his personnel including the bartender.

"I hope you instructed your deputies to shoot to kill," Slim said grimly.

"I did but they won't... they're not that stupid and they've got family members out there."

A suspicious lull in the hubbub preceded a tremendous crash as the double front doors gave way and a bevy of maddened citizens poured in.

" **Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"** Corey was yelling just before he was knocked aside. Slim tried to block them but he was only one man against the many. Too soon his arms were pinioned behind him and a brawny individual had a musclebound arm around his throat, choking him. Father Sean had immediately dragged Sally from her chair and thrust her off to side before wading in with fists flying, making a considerable dent before the attackers got over their reticence about hitting a man of the cloth. Sally found herself near the opening to the bar... with access to rows of bottles. The room was too crowded to be choosy about victims. As no one was paying any attention and fair fighting seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind, she picked up the first bottle and began methodically bashing heads of those who ventured too close to the bar... whether or not their faces were familiar.

Jess was nowhere in sight... presumably he lay at the bottom of a knot of assailants kicking their legs and flailing their arms in a frenzy to land the next punch. Slim had managed to free himself but wasn't making any progress toward rescuing Jess. Father Sean was holding his own... barely.

The next wave of men bursting into the room were small, masked, black-clad and brandishing shotguns. Multiple volleys over their heads sufficed to subdue the mob. From behind the new men, Kim came forward and said something to them in Chinese. Every weapon was lowered to torso level.

"You men who're carrying guns, put them on the floor... gently. My compatriots' shotguns are loaded with buckshot. Anyone who makes a false move gets a gut full. All it takes is one word from me."

The silence in the room was disturbed only by the sounds of heavy breathing and the thumping of irons contacting floorboards.

"Excellent. You sir... yes, you with the rope. Please put the noose around your own neck and snug it down... that's it. What I want you to do is make a slip knot and drop it over your neighbor's head..."

One of the men protested he'd had no intention of participating in the actual lynching.

"Don't care. You're all guilty by association."

By the time they'd run out of rope, eight men were strung together like horses on a picket line. Kim nodded approvingly. "The rest of you go outside, single file, and wait for us in front of the hotel. I wouldn't advise trying to run for it... you've been marked and you _will_ be cut down."

The men who were roped together looked like they were about to wet their trousers. Every trace of bravado had deserted them.

"And you idiots... just stand there quietly until I decide what to do with you."

 **Sheriff Corey was just coming around,** groaning as Father Sean knelt beside him and then helped him to stand. Slim, too, was kneeling beside his fallen partner. Sally came around from behind the bar to join Slim.

"How bad?" Kim asked.

"Don't know. He's unconscious," Sally answered. "See if you can get Young Doc back right away." She laid a restraining hand on Slim's arm. "We shouldn't move him until my brother gets here. What's going on outside? It's awfully quiet..."

"More of Mister Wing's militia have 'em rounded up," Kim answered. "Including the women. I'm going to go and talk to them in a minute. Maybe they'll listen now."

Kim chirped to one of the masked men, who handed over his shotgun and went to take up the end of the rope.

"Okay. You people follow him out and join your friends. Remember, you're not free to leave just yet. Pass the word."

The roped men shuffled out, eyeing the weapon in Kim's hands as they passed by. Kim laid the shotgun on the bar top and started to walk over to Slim and Sally. Having collected most of his wits, Sheriff Corey stopped him.

"I don't know what you've got in mind but there's still not gonna be any lynching... or any more killing. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Perfectly. But you'd better hope Jess isn't..." Kim couldn't bring himself to complete the thought... not with Slim looking up at him in abject misery.

"It stops now," Kim said, wheeling and walking out.

 **Blinking in the afternoon sunlight,** Kim stood at the head of the steps and surveyed the odd scene laid out before him: To one side an aggregation of women, children and men who hadn't participated in the mob. On the other side, the men who had. Both groups effectively being wrangled by Wing's young men. A hush fell over the crowd, every upturned face displaying both fright and curiosity.

"I have an announcement to make. Can you people in the back hear me okay?"

There was a furious nodding of heads.

"My name is Kim Kahále. I came here almost four months ago. You don't know me because, for personal reasons, I've been staying out at the Sherman ranch all this time. The woman you all are so concerned about is my soon-to-be ex-wife. The men she arrived with are her brothers, a bishop and a priest, her lawyer and her lover."

A titter of murmured commentary broke out.

"The reason for her visit was to obtain a divorce so she can marry her lover before the child she's carrying is born. His child. When I wouldn't agree to her terms, her brothers decided it would be less fuss just to kill me. They are now late, thanks to Jess Harper... who isn't doing so well at the moment thanks to you misinformed vigilantes. You turned on one of your own because you were dumb enough to believe a pair of con artists.

"I didn't have to explain all this to you but it seemed the fastest way to get you all to calm down. I hope you all see where it's got you."

Kim paused to let his speech sink in and gauge the mood of the assembly. Sure enough... they were starting to look contrite, ashamed. Many of them no doubt considering how they would ever again be able to look Slim Sherman or Jess Harper in the eye without embarrassment.

"If you have any questions, might as well get 'em out now..."

A weasel-faced woman at the front put up her hand. "What about them two little girls? We heard..."

"They're my daughters. It became evident they were intended to be used as bargaining chips to ensure I agreed to my wife's demands. Sheriff Corey advised taking them into protective custody for their own safety."

Another self-righteous prig took a bold step forward. "Around here, mister, we don't air our dirty linen in public!"

"And where I come from, m'am, we don't let nosiness and gossip override common sense. We don't lynch innocent men on the basis of rumors."

Assisted by Father Sean, the battered sheriff hobbled out and halted beside Kim.

"Time for all of you to go about your legitimate business... or go home. But know this... I've got the name of every man who participated in this travesty. I could arrest you for assaulting an officer of the law... but I won't. And you can still be arrested on charges of wrongful death if it comes to that. So go home and pray it doesn't."

The crowd dispersed much more quickly than it had come together. The street was deserted except for Young Doc hurrying along, his black bag swinging. And Wing's young men. Kim thanked them for their assistance and told them they could go. They, too, melted away.

Corey was having trouble standing up straight. "That was quite a speech, son. Don't think I've ever heard one quite like it... at least not on that subject matter."

"I've never given one like it before."

"What's next? I guess it'd be too much to expect you'll take your kids and be on the next boat home?"

"It is. And I'm not finished here."

"I was afraid of that."

The trio turned to follow as Young Doc brushed by them on his way in.

 **Jess was now conscious** though still on the floor, his head in Sally's lap and a grim-faced Slim hunkering nearby. After performing a cursory examination, Young Doc lumbered to his feet and announced to the room at large that he was unable to identify any immediate mortal injury.

"There's always a possibility of internal damage so I'll be keeping a close watch on him for the next few days. He'll be sore as hell for a while. Slim, I recommend keeping him here at the hotel until he's able to travel."

Slim nodded. "Whatever's best, Doc. We'll manage..."

Lychee and Aristide Picard had sidled into the room. The attorney addressed the proprietor.

"Please have a ground floor suite prepared for Mister Harper right away."

"A suite? Surely a standard room...? That is... the expense..."

"A suite, with accommodations for a nurse if needed. As Mister Harper's injuries were sustained at the hands of the taxpayers, I'm certain the town council will agree that expenses should be covered from the contingency fund. Doctor Whatleigh?"

Young Doc hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and rocked back on his heels. "I'm sure they'll go along with whatever we request. It'll be a lot less expensive than a lawsuit."

Now sitting up though looking as if he'd been mauled by a pack of wolves, Jess cut into the deliberations with a loud complaint.

"How about you jokers let _me_ decide where I wanna be? I just wanna go home! Somebody get my horse...!"

Slim and Sally exchanged grins over their friend's head. Jess was going to be just fine.


	43. Chapter 43

_Chapter 43 —_ **EPILOGUE**

" _ **Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story."**_ _(unattributed)_

 **No charges were brought** against Ysabel or any of her party. The day after the hotel debacle, Ysabel Santiago and her colonel were joined in matrimony by Bishop O'Shea himself, who reckoned that any determination as to the holiness of the union was best left to a much higher authority than himself. And the day after that, the newlyweds and their considerably reduced entourage entrained for San Francisco. Ysabel's embalmed brothers in lead-lined coffins rode in the baggage car. Attorney Raymondo García telegraphed his resignation to his home office before hopping on the stagecoach bound for points east.

 **Andrew Sherman was preparing** for his departure to St. Louis. He'd passed his entrance exams with superlative marks and the acceptance letter from Smith Academy was in his brother's proud hands. Although the summer term wouldn't be commencing until the first week of May, it was decided that he should arrive two weeks early to allow for settling in. As the interim days dwindled, he grew more excited… and more sad about leaving the only home he'd ever known and the people he loved. At the same time he accepted that he wasn't cut out to be a rancher… that his career path lay elsewhere. Whatever it turned out to be, he hoped it never took him too far from Wyoming… or, at least, was such that would allow him to return often.

 **Jebediah Jones and his long-time lady friend** Emmaline Whatleigh Giancomo had accompanied Andy to Cheyenne where, as a courtesy, the test had been proctored by the superintendent of the city's school district. Upon their return, it was revealed that Jonesy and Emma had sealed their heretofore unacknowledged relationship in a private ceremony conducted by a justice of the peace. Furthermore, the couple would be relocating to St. Louis to live with Jonesy's widowed daughter Alice Jones Merriwether and his grandchildren. It was already arranged that Andy would be joining the household as a day student rather than boarding in the academy's facility. Emmaline (aka Madam Aline) sold out to her business partner Mildred Jane Fisk (aka Madam Vidalia Shallot) her share of their prosperous bordello on the north side of Laramie. Her private residence was part of the deal although she and her new husband were occupying the premises until the actual day of departure, at which time she would be relinquishing the keys.

 **Jess Harper—having almost completely recovered** from his ordeal and slowly regaining his strength—was, for the time being, content to immerse himself in the humdrum existence of ranch and relay station maintenance. And—for the short time they had left—he continued enjoying hours spent with Carolina Compton. Carrie'd regretfully informed him that she, too, would be moving to St. Louis. Miss Emma had declared her talents wasted in a backwater such as Laramie and had offered to sponsor her establishment of an _haute couture_ salon in the big city. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Jess had accepted the news with grudging grace—deep down recognizing he wasn't ready for family life, either... not _that_ kind, anyway. Although he wasn't ready to admit it to Slim just yet, his heart was telling him that he'd already found his forever home. Yes, there would be differences of opinion and arguments to come—their divergent personalities would ensure that—but together they would surmount those obstacles.

 **Slim Sherman—having at last become reconciled** to losing Andy to the far-away halls of academe—was applying himself to long-range planning for the future of the ranch. It was a given that the stagecoach business was in decline. To survive, he needed to diversify and expand the ranch and he couldn't do it by himself. He needed Jess Harper by his side. Although Slim could never prove it and Kim never admitted it, he now knew— _almost_ for certain—who'd been responsible for the anonymous financial assistance.

 **Kimball Kahále—freed from his obligation to Slim** —and his daughters were temporarily 'boarding' with Sally Whatleigh Lowenstein, occupying the previously unused third floor of her rambling home. Publicly, he was delaying their return to the islands until the last wrinkles in his divorce/annulment were ironed out. Privately, he and Sally were conducting a probationary period with a view toward a possible future permanent alliance. There were too many variables to consider before tying a knot... not the least of which were the children. Anela and Noelani had been enrolled in Laramie Primary for the remainder of the school year. With Jacob functioning as their champion, they were swiftly adjusting to the American educational format, which was radically different from what either girl had been accustomed to. Sally had worried at first that the girls would be subjected to the cruelty children can inflict on those who are 'different' but Kim had assured her they could handle all comers... and they did.

 **On a sunny, unusually balmy** March afternoon, Kim and Sally were sitting side by side on a railing watching their progeny at play in the pasture. Jacob was astride Scooter, Kim's unattractive little dun horse now past any useful work. He could get around well enough but could no longer support the weight of an adult—soon he'd be joining the other retirees at the Rocking W Ranch. Noelani was riding PeeWee, Andy's outgrown pinto pony. Anela was on Sparrow, a sturdy mid-size child-safe Morgan mare on loan from the Bartlett's outfit down the road. They appeared to be engaged in some form of three-horse polo with crude homemade mallets and a misshapen leather-covered ball.

"Something I've been meaning to tell you," Sally said. "Forgot about it 'til just now..."

"What's that?"

"That first day we brought the girls out here and introduced them to Slim? Did you notice how strangely Anela reacted to him? How she watches him like a hawk every time we're visiting?"

"Not particularly. She probably just has a crush on him. It happens."

"And then she said the oddest thing..." Sally shivered. "She looked up at me and said _'that's the man I'm going to marry when I grow up.'_ Surely she was joking... there's eighteen years between them!"

Kim didn't say anything for a minute, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

"My _tai-po_ —that's my father's grandmother, Meihui—had the sight. Pélé claimed Anela inherited it."

"Baloney!" Sally laughed.

"No... really. She knew things, saw things. She could foretell the future."

"And was she always right?"

"Not always accurate, but close enough to scare your socks off."

"Like what, for instance? What did she predict for you?"

"She said I would marry three times. The third time would be a _gweiloh_ —a white woman—from across the eastern sea."

"You're making that up! And anyway, you and Pélé weren't actually married."

"As good as. She also said I'd have ten children. Your two and my seven make nine. So she missed the mark on that one... why are you looking at me like that?"

Sally gulped before replying slowly. "No, Kim... she didn't. She was right on target..."

Kim stared back as the full import of her words sank in. Neither noticed that Anela had slipped off her mount and approached the fence with a bemused expression.

"So... is Sally going be our new mother?"

Kim shook himself out of his trance. "I... uh... we... that is... we haven't decided yet."

"It's beginning to look that way, Anela," Sally finished with a smile. "If you and Noelani and Jacob and the other girls agree."

"Good. 'Cause 'Lani and I already decided we want Jake and Lily to be our new brother and sister. And another brother'll be nice too! We think Keanu'll be a good name for him, after our step-granddaddy."

The girl returned to the game with a satisfied smirk, leaving the pair of grown-ups gobsmacked.

 **Much later—after the visitors had gone,** chores finished, dinner over with and Andy already in bed—Slim and Jess repaired to the front porch to enjoy their coffees and watch the moon come up over the mountains. Although they were as yet unaware of it, this quiet time together was to become their evening ritual. They hadn't yet reached that level of friendship that allowed each to fully disclose to the other his innermost hopes, dreams and fears... but they were getting there. Respect, admiration and trust were already present in the bedrock. What more could a man ask of his best friend?

THE END

 **With many thanks to my wonderful beta, Sally Bahnsen — Queen of the Slash-and-Burn Editing Technique and Buckets of Red Ink**

 _(_ _ **Author's note...**_ _In the early twentieth century, anthropologist Margaret Mead explored adolescent sexuality in the tropics... where children mature much earlier than those in temperate climes. Also in that same and earlier eras, child marriage was practiced in America's deep south and Appalachian regions, where girls as young as twelve and thirteen were routinely married off as soon as they were physically capable of reproducing. Child marriage and plural marriage were religious traditions observed by early Mormons and many Native American tribes.)_


End file.
